Land of Withering
by Someauthoring
Summary: Cold winds sweep in from the north. The wolf's howl is struck dead in the night and where the trees wither, blood-stained fur lie on roads to new destinations, cut short as the path ends where the dead tread. Sylvanas, the one who fell, rise again from the ruins of Lordaeron and with a taste for vengeance the queen of the Forsaken takes the fight to the king of the damned.
1. Prologue

**LAND OF WITHERING**

 **Prologue**

Like just another leaf tumbling down for its final rest she lay draped across the cold autumn ground, watching the clouds pass over Tirisfal Glades. There was an inquisitive look on her face as she contemplated the moon and the stars bestowing a gentle shimmering over the sleeping ravens in the trees. The last living beings on this dead soil.

It was a land of withering that he slender form of this ancient being rested against. Bathed in waves of silver light, the eternal night-sky above framed its mother Elune, exposed for mortals and timeless alike to bear witness. A sacred event to elves. Sacrilege to man.

On one hand she could count how many times she's felt the goddess intimate presence surrounding her like this, overpowering and humbling... Once each millennia... and it pained her to present her new corrupt form, wondering what she must be thinking.

 _How things have changed..._

Heavy eyelids fell, sheltering silent reverie of both pain and sorrow over the years that's passed and loved ones who's passed along with them. She knew that neither sleep nor rest would ever alleviate her tortured mind, and yet she tried. _Hoped_ that this hollow existence of sand and fire would be soothed for but one night.

Her cold lips opened to breathe in the putrid reek of the forest, a smell that's become as pleasant to her corrupted senses as the pollen of spring. The dense thicket of dark, withering trees loomed out of the corners of her vision: unnatural-looking but beautifully so. She mused, that if not for her living memories of how things ought to be, perhaps this new reality would not be so much of a torment and a curse.

The ancient elf of scabs and rot let out a tired sigh, feeling beyond exhausted, dismayed by the obstacles that lay before her and what she must do. Another sigh and she let her mind stray from such troubling thoughts. For she had promised herself that on this sacred night she would not let the burdens of being Sylvanas the leashmaster of the damned haunt her thoughts. She gazed towards the goddess once more.

 _Oh, how the world shrinks on the ancients and the divine, casting it aside to give way for the new order of death and desolation in the kingdom of mortals. Have all abandoned me, even you?_

 _...mother above_

 _ **l~~~l**_


	2. Chapter 1 - To fight fire with fire

**To fight fire with fire**

 **Undercity.**

 _What had once been the grand city of Lordaeron was unrecognizable to anyone who remembers it._

This great ballroom with its long history of festivities, echoing the sounds of joyeous laughter, tapping feet and music off of polished stone walls was no more. All such delights had seized with the return of its crown prince.

Even the extravagant marble stairs and floors of gold have long since been broken down by twines, bones and dirt, slowly pulled apart and consumed as if by some evil force willing itself out of the deep. Now this empty, earthy tomb: this theater of apparitions stretched high into a towering darkness that not even the worgen's keen eyes could penetrate. The only source of light was the weak tint emanating from purposely placed candles decorating the walls in diabolic patterns.

And here... in the heart of darkness, the bloodcurdling sight of the Banshee Queen's shadowy silhouette was revealed to them, still as a statue atop her throne of bones. Her pupil-less, blood red eyes bore into each of her recipients. A gaze they dared meet at first, but have since avoided like the plague itself. It was a gaze that pulled you in, tunnels your vision and collapse the very world around you as your soul bends and rips in the presence of the prime evil of the lost and the haunted. All they wished was to flee this damned place and never return, but even as they trembled, they were adamant, fixed on their task. For no matter the horrors they face, justice must prevail and new generations live on. Failure was not an option.

 ** _l~~~l_**

To read any kind of facial expression on Sylvanas concrete features usually required a mind of great precision. But this day her inner thoughts revealed itself in the way her jaw clenched as she ground her shark-like teeth together. And every time one of her teeth snapped, the wolves before her flinched.

The response from the major powers was an outrage beyond belief. It's staring them right in the face! The increased aggression, the numbers... each organized attack practically screamed that the Lich King was back.

 _And yet, they cannot see it! What fools these mortal masters of Azeroth are, walking the path of complete denial! How have even the bloodthirsty orcs managed to grow fat and lazy, letting their battleaxes be dedicated towards the downright insulting task of chopping of logs, rather than buried in the bellies of their enemies?! This is all Thrall's fault, letting himself be manipulated by the humans and their moral code._

She needed that spark to ignite the fires of war. Without it, all of Azeroth lived in blind ignorance, oblivious to the whispers of impending doom carried by the cold winds sweeping in from the north.

 _But soon they shall know the consequences of their actions,_ Sylvanas thought, sensing dark forces rising in the east... but a fool's tiring words begged for her attention.

"We _demand_ our children's safe return, and we will _not_ leave this place until they are _back_ in our arms!" The worgen's last shout fell short in the vast, earthy chamber.

To simply grasp them by their necks and watch bravado crumble in whimpers and squeals as she thrashed them around like the insignificant dogs they were, was an easy temptation. But she must exercise restraint. Instead the queen occupied her frenzied mind by considering yet again over how many bodies it would require to invade and conquer Gilneas... only to conclude that it would not be worth the effort, no matter how sweet the sound.

 _Let the wolflings play in their forests, hidden behind man-made walls of stone and arcane glyphs. I'll come for you all... eventually..._

 _But the wicked beasts sure are breeding fast in their foul dens._ Another voice spoke in her head. _Give the wolflings a few more generations and perhaps they might grow into a force to be reckoned with_...

Sylvanas shook her head. No, that would be a long time coming, and by that time, her dominion's strength will have increased many times over. No amount of pups would ever be a threat to her.

 **Red eyes rose towards the gathered.**

" _Tell me..._ " She spoke at last to the furry recipients in a slow, brooding manner, effectively interrupting the worgen's desperate floundering.

" _How is it that you come before me, presenting such trifling matters and expect my attention and concern_ _..."_ She paused and contemplated for a moment their disdain at finally having her attention. "W _asting my time is not wise._ " She croaked as each word forced itself through channels of dried wounds and feces.

One of the elderly Worgen took courage and stepped forward. Judged by his excitement, he thought he was making progress.

 _How coy._ Sylvanas thought and tilted her head slightly. But otherwise sat still like a statue, hands resting, nails wedged into the cracks of hardened stone at her side.

"The trail reeked of _undead_!" The beastly Worgen spat through clenched teeth and gestured wildly with his time-worn but robust arms. She could tell it was with a final burst of confidence that he took another stride forward and puffed his chest proudly before her, now only ten yards away.

"There is no denying whom the guilty party is in this abduction our most beloved!" He said and took a dramatic breath, peering at her suspiciously.

"You don't even deny your involvement! I can assure you! Greymane's revenge will be swift and utterly ruthless in the face of such heinous acts! Your _vicious_ assaults on our people will _never_ go unpunished!" He called without even the slightest echo to dispel the slamming silence that followed his daring.

Behind him, his comrades huddled together, alarmed by their elder's sudden response and what she might do to thwart such audacity. The smell of their own fears only served to further tickle the primal lust for violence at the core of their being...

 **And in every shadow there was a shadow.**

Her deathly pale features split into a screeching gleer that mocked the anxious beasts into growls and snapping teeth. She challenged them with a challenging gaze in return that promised nothing but death.

"Don't humor me, _pups_!" she retorted and her eerie, guttural speech alarmed them by its vulgarity. The undead queen's ulterior was made up of pale features and a black guise of some ungodly texture. A ghoulish, chilling display, though compared to other undead: utterly pristine. But beneath the artificial surface, a world of contorted flesh and rotting intestines lay hidden from sight, only revealed by the muffled, gurgling sounds produced by malfunctioning lungs, escaping her mangled throat in heaves. " _If you truly believe yourself a threat to the Forsaken, then I've overestimated even the intelligence of dogs!_ " She studied the rows of flawless, unchipped teeth so unabashedly flashed at her from a safe distance by the younglings, making it no secret that these were no seasoned warriors before her.

She drew back her lips, showing off her own rows of sharp teeth, fit for ripping off flesh straight from the bone and spat out the useless fragments.

 _Is Greymane testing the waters by sending me sacrificial lambs?_ She studied them again. _Old men and children!_ _Perhaps I should do Greymane the favor of ridding him of a few cretins..._

 _"We do not stand alone!_ As of this very moment we are engaged in close discussion with the Alliance on how to best approach this threat to..." his words blurred, drowned away in Sylvanas mind of raging thoughts and complete disinterest.

 _Who dies first?_ _The bearded old man? The snapping youngwolf? Maybe the boy in the back... Hmm_. The wide-eyed child trembled under her gaze. _He's already wetted himself._ She thought and chuckled despite herself.

" _Joining the Alliance is to write the death-sentence of your race. Is that why you've come before me? Is that Greymane's intentions, to bare his throat to the death?"_ The old man did not know it yet, but the second his fat mouth opened again he'd be nothing but a corpse on the ground, ready to be consumed.

Vibrating with excitement she awaited his response... but just when his lips were about to part, a raven appeared overhead.

A loud cry pierced the air as it shot through one of the sewer tunnels and averted everyone's attention. It circled the throne chamber half a turn. released a rolled-up piece of parchment, and before its package was even halfway to its destination, it escaped through another stinking sewer overhead. Sylvanas caught a glimpse of the Argent Dawn's sigil of a silver moon rising, and in a flash snatched it out of thin air.

The rough paper-roll crackled as she broke the seal and unfolded the dry pachment in one swift movement. Sylvanas skimmed through the letters of black ink that held the tone of respect, built on bricks of desperation more than anything else. It didn't take long for her guests to grow impatient once more.

"You are right, my Queen. Allow _me_ to handle this wretch," a bellowing voice intervened, powerful enough to make the very ground tremble. She looked to her primary adviser curiously as the giant for a Dreadlord emerged from the shadows. His appearance reinstated silence out of fear and respect, and Sylvanas thought she even heard a soft whimper escape their guests.

Varimathras gestured towards the message "There are evidently more pressing matters for you to attend to" he said, but she didn't even seem to acknowledge his suggestion. Instead, her attention returned to the parchment.

"Our dear friends in Light's Hope chapel claim some rather peculiar things... claims I must determine whether they be truth or lies. The humans could very well exaggerate, simply to lure my attention, that is the way they are. Either way, this will cost them to the bitter end." She proclaimed ad tossed the parchment to one of her liches for storage. "In the meantime, I trust you capable of defending Undercity from these pups in my absence." she said with a tone of mockery.

Varimathras bowed in acknowledgement. "Undercity is yours, now and always." he declared ceremoniously.

 _A needless thing to say._ She thought. "Summon Putrus. This concern is ultimately his responsibility." She announced, causing one last outrage from the Worgen, though they seemed much less enthusiastic about their foolish endeavor at this point.

"We still have matters to discuss, Sylvanas!" She heard a whiny voice shout from the crowd and her unblinking glare widened in disbelief.

"If Greymane wishes for my personal attention in the matter, he shall have to crawl his pathetic hide here himself!" Sylvanas snapped and pushed off her throne in one swift movement. Striding forward, the sound of bones and cadaver snapped in her wake as she tread the field of carcasses.

At her invasive approach, the gathered backpedaled in fear, but before any of them had the time to react, the pale shadow of the grave dashed forward and seized the elderly man by the throat. Dangling in the air for his comrades to behold, they could only look on helplessly as his legs twisted in the air, quickly losing strength while, slowly, Sylvanas raised a pale hand and like a talon jabbed it into his open maw-

if you so much as blinked, all you'd hear was the sickening sound as the man's tongue was ripped from his throat. Sylvanas let the worm drop to the floor and flinged his body across the room.

" _Varimathras. Make sure this one does not choke!_ " She called and all was silent except for the old man on his belly, writhing like a rabid animal, gurgling fresh blood on unburied corpses. "Send Greymane my regards. _Kill the rest."_

Humming along with the music of screams and terror she petted the necklace that dangled on her chest. At a tug of her mind at one of the new but strong connections to Darrowshire, a purple flash of blinding light burst from the stone in the ravenclaw's clutches, and just like that...

She was gone.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Sylvanas slowly opened her eyes to the white brilliance that speared through the mass of clouds and the broken roof. It was faint, but after weeks spent in the underground gloom of her domain, it was blazing bright to her senses. Enough paint the landscape that surrounded her like the arctic wastelands of the Frozen Steppes and for a moment she felt as though something hard and cold seized her numb form. But it was gone as soon as it came.

The rundown shed she stood in lay covered in curtains of spiderwebs and dust, punctured by holes and broken planks. The only signs of change since its apparent abandonment was the number of items the surrounding liches had installed to conduct their magic. They respectfully knelt in her presence and she sent them an invigorating pulse.

She wasted no time to dally and was quickly on her way once more. Her mind craved the intimate caress of an arrow's fletching, the inbred motion of notching and drawing her bow, the gentle thud as an arrow was released to the wind and the crescendo of her enemy's piercing cries. The wolves had done little to satisfy her: a fleeting event, as even from here she could smell the scent of battle many miles away and it was calling to her.

Breaking through the doorway of the simple shed, she presented herself on the courtyard of cobblestone and deteriorating vines and wells. Before her lay a sight that made her eyes squint in puzzled bewilderment. Long rows of soldiers presented themselves in trimmed formations, armed and ready for combat: a thousand silent warriors of different degrees of decay. Judged by the number of familiar faces she could recognize, she knew this was no inferior force gathered before her.

 _I did not call them here._ She thought behind furrowed brows.

"Sylvanas!" A familiar voice called, a voice that over the many years she's simply come to expect at her side. To the public eye it might appear as though Varimathras is her most _trusted_ right hand man, but in truth it has always been Nathanos. He has been with her since even before The Dawn of the Forsaken, a time when he was a mere human, staring at her in wonder and admiration.

Hardly the first human to be mesmerized by an elf's beauty and skill. But even back then she'd recognized he had the means to become something more than all those who's come before him. The potential she'd seen didn't take long sprout into fruition, and by his own merits he climbed the ranks to become the first and only human to ever reach the rank of Ranger Lord in the Farstrider hierarchy. Now, many years later he lumbered towards her, a vile form of rotting flesh and bone, but with a confident gait, one that fits his stature, though he's always preferred the more modest way of life. The green-hooded figure, accompanied by two axes and two giant hounds stopped before her and bowed his head.

Sylvanas greeted him. "It would appear my arrival was expected." She deduced and ordered him to rise from where he was kneeling. "It is true then, the Lich King is at large."

Nathanos grumbled and motioned her to join him. "I haven't laid eyes on the guest of honor myself yet, my queen." Was the words forced out of his mangled throat - his guttural speech worse than her own - lacking certain details such as _a jaw_. His death had been an unpleasant one, but so was the fate of anyone coming into the Lich King's most personal clutches. The resulting severity of the torture always revealed itself more or less visible to the naked eye depending on whether the purpose was to cause pain or to mutilate. Arthas had shown no mercy on anyone: but as for the women he seemed inclined to preserve their faces... for one perverse reason or another.

"His army on the other hand does not go by discreetly, very much present indeed. Although, in the dark recesses of my mind I sense something..." Nathanos gave her a meaningful look, full of slumbering hatred and a desire for revenge that snagged a pause out of the pair. "...defensive positions has been set all along this perimeter, continuing northwards, as was your command." He continued. They walked alongside each other, passing row after row of soldiers, standing completely motionless while the two commanders made their way for the village gates.

"The Necropolis has laid siege on the fortified chapel for three days straight. It's bleeding like a wounded animal. It will be by your grace they may survive the night."

Sylvanas considered this for a moment, inspecting another broken house. She knew what he was hinting at.

"As convenient as it would be, ridding ourselves of the humans from our back porch without a political backlash..." She started. "I'm simply not particularly fond of the possibility that we might be forced back into another exhausting war for the riverbank between the eastern and western Plaguelands. To pass on hitting the Lich King in the back while he's vulnerable would be an opportunity too good waste."

Nathanos nodded, but his gaze traced the ground, seemingly deep in thought. "I fear, though. For all that the master of the Scourge is, he sure holds a tactical mind. For what reason would he practically invite us stabbing him in the back?"

They passed the iron gates that marked the end of the small and newly obtained village. "Never fear, Nathanos." Sylvanas said coolly, stopped and turned to him. "There's no reason to overthink things."

"I just-"

" _Quiet!"_

They stared at each other for a long moment, an then Nathanos burst into manical laughter. "You're practically oozing with bloodthirst! I knew your response would be swift." He cackled, and she could see him burning with anticipation like her own.

"Well well, let's see if this company of yours can keep up with me, then." She said in a mocking tone that sounded almost playful, a rarity to anyone's ears coming from such a grim source. Nathanos was about to pursue the mild banter, when he noticed the air beside him was empty. He cursed aloud and shouted orders to get the battalion of soldiers on the heels of their queen.

 _ **l~~~l**_

 **Pale hair** flowed in the howling wind as the lean figure, clad in darkness and protruding white bone, dashed between the trees.

Across acres of withering fields, roads and hills her path led, passing by in swift succession. There was hardly a limit to how hard she could push her vessel for a body. Free from pain and exhaustion she pressed on and nothing was held back. In the distance she could sense a looming presence, a shadow casting a shadow. He was not here, not yet, as if waiting for something. What, she did not know.

Coming up another hill, she caught the first glimpse of the enemy - a dozen zombies and skeletons that never even caught a glimpse of the phantom that emerged in their midst's. A gust of wind and they all lay sliced to pieces on the ground. She wandered the last few steps amidst the carnage of undead remains and put her left hand on the massive brick wall of Light's Shield Tower. Inside she smelled the blood of those who'd tried to defend this place against the Scourge forces but just like the many who came before them, they were no more.

Manic excitement bubbled within her from where she stood. Like adrenaline coursing through veins that's long since fallen victim to decay, she watched the dark sea below crash down slopes and crawl up hills. Bulging waves of undead, desperate in their attempt to reach the defenders atop the fortifications plowed forward through whatever means necessary: on the ground, atop each other... it was an endless tide of bone and flesh, flowing ever onward as the siege on Light's Hope Chapel commenced.

Taking this in, Sylvanas gathered her power, shooting tendrils all over the Plaguelands and Tirisfal Glades, rallying her troops to face this host of Arthas power.

 _Waves are going to crash into waves. Arthas might have come so far... but this time he is going no further._

Behind her, hooves reverberated, but never did she avert her gaze. Even as the skeletal horse came to a halt next to her.

"Us joining the fray will not make much difference in this mess." Nathanos advised. "We should pull back and await reinforcements." He said, but upon taking note of the rabid look on her face, he very much doubt his words ability to sway.

"Oh, but you underestimate me, Nathanos," Sylvanas replied. "I haven't seen a battle of such potential in a long, long time. Rest assured, we will have our share of the fun.

Nathanos peered at her suspiciously. "What are you planning?"

Sylvanas threw him a mischievous grin. " _Cover me!_ " Like an arrow she shot down down the hill, leaving Nathanos to helplessly watch his queen on pursuit, killing one stray scourge after another as she split across the wide range of char-like terrain and rising fumes.

"Cover me?" He grumbled and shook his head. His queen was unusually feisty today.

He pulled the horse around, but it had not an ounce of energy left to spare. Undead or no, eventually you toppled over when your strength failed you. It fell to the ground with a groan, and would have brought Nathanos with it, had he not quickly jumped off. He threw another glance to the east but Sylvanas was now far away. From up here on the hill he could see Corin's Crossing to the south. The devastated village was swarming with countless abominations, liches and other lesser undead.

He knew Sylvanas would be fine. She was not one to make a fool of herself. After all, she's the one who trained him. He walked swiftly towards the edge of the large hill, and spared the ground fifty yards below only a thought before he allowed gravity to pull him down. He hit the ground hard, but never wasted a single second. Already hooves reverberated under his feet and the barking hounds filled the pine-forest, telling him the time has come for the armies of the Scourge and the Forsaken to meet for the very first time.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Sylvanas gaze was set high, fixed on the gigantic Flesh Behemoth towering thirty feet above the army of the dead, stomping down on any scourge who happened under it's giant feet. The Lich King's hold was strong on even this monstrosity, but not completely encompassing. This battlefield was also her affinity and if he sought to win it, he'd have to show himself in person and fight her.

She stretched out her right hand towards the giant that rose several stone-throws away and made a claw-like motion. The giant's protruding tendons tensed, and the loud crack of snapping of bones could be heard all across the battlefield as its muscles spasmed uncontrollably. nd the behemoth crumbled down to its knees and with a groan came sailing face-first towards the ground. The large quake that rocked the ground, knocked down every scourge in vicinity that had not already been mashed by its monstrous frame. It's eyes bulged and from it's vile mouth came a loud belch as it writhed in pain on the ground. Some horrible goo came puking out on the field and without warning, it's large belly suddenly exploded with a loud pop!

Large chunks of rotten meat scattered across the battlefield and it's rich guts, filled with toxic waste, poured through the area, drenching countless scourge in grotesque slime who screamed and wailed, rapidly dissolving in its horrific acid.

Sylvanas watched the destruction with gleeful satisfaction and in her excitement almost missed the large blade that swung with the clear intent to decapitate her. Reflexes kicked in and she lurched to the side and saw a lock of her own pale hair fall to the ground as the sharp blade cut just by her left cheek. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the owner of the blade, a large creature wearing an impressive armor in the color of obsidian.

 _Arthas!_

Without a moment to spare, she tumbled under another wide swing, brought her left arm up to the quiver at her back, notched and drew her bow while rolling across the ground, and then dashed to her feet. A bellowing voice roared in her ears as the Lich King came charging towards her and brought the mighty Frostmourne down on her head with two hands - at the same moment as she let the arrow fly.

 _ **l~~~l**_

She stared with wide eyes. The giant and his armor: broken. Before her, a gaping hole the size of a tauren's head presented itself, large enough for her to crawl through if she so desired. Painfully slow her defeated foe descended backwards towards the ground and smashed into the earth like a fallen tree. The helmet gave way as the head crashed with a heavy thud, cracked in two like an egg, and there on the ground she witnessed a face that was not Arthas. She bit down on the bitter taste of disappointment, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

But her bitter thoughts were soon interrupted by gurgling laughter.

Crippled, but not yet perished, the deathknight tried to force any kind of coherent sound, but nothing was heard as he no longer held lungs for which to support it. Sylvanas could only trace the words of mockery that formed on his lips and in one swift movement she stepped forward and kicked his head with such force that she caved in his skull with a crunch. She brought her foot down once more and saw it ripped clean off his neck and sent rolling among the extremities of other lesser scourge. She set out after it and wouldn't be satisfied until one could make soup out of it.

Around her, moaning zombies closed in on her as she came forward.

" _Oh, you'd only fucking dare!_ " She screeched. The mindless ghouls were too stupid to understand her words, but they recognized what she was. They simply stood there in a daze, whimpering while their disabled minds tried to make sense of the dilemma of which master to hail.

 _Sylvanas!_ echoed another bellowing voice in her head and she stopped dead in her tracks. This time she held no doubts of who it was.

 _I had not expected your company on such a fine day. I am glad you're given the chance to witness my invasion and destruction of your lands firsthand... again._

She clenched her teeth as the unforgotten voice of Arthas resounded in her head.

" _You will find that much have changed._ " she grumbled and forcibly blocked the tormentor's voice out of her head. A cold wind swept through and the ghouls around her found their wits once more, bearing down on her.

The first arrow of many split the air with a singing cry, exploding onto the Lich King's forces, whom like a colony of ants scurried away, trying to make sense of the ensuing chaos as the Banshee Queen unleashed her wrath upon them, making her retreat in a flurry of arrows.


	3. Chapter 2 - Thorn's Justice

**Thorn's Justice**

The peak of Light's Hope Chapel peeked cautiously behind the large, crumbling walls - much like it's battered and sullied defenders who desperately clung to their lives atop the fortifications. Defeat was written on every man's face as the sight of impending doom streamed endlessly down the valley from the northern mountains. A terrifying sight that's become much too familiar during the past few days.

The monstrous abomination's destruction was but a fleeting event in these men's desperate struggle for survival. Eyes glazed, dirty hands shaking with effort for each arrow notched to the bowstring, they fought on, but alas, in this war disease and infections was the victor. The nauseating ooze that's filled the air spread through mind and body, food and water and the piles of corpses grew in the streets and in the infirmaries, more so than the soldiers on the walls. Time was slipping from their grasp. Whatever hopes they once held dwindled to nothing as every Alliance stronghold reported that reinforcements were still many dark nights away, hindered by the roaming scourge that's swarmed the roads throughout the land.

In the end, they did not have a choice.

With reluctance and regret they'd sent the letter - to call for the Banshee Queen's aid - in turn accepting a heavy price, but one they must pay if they are to live and protect what's most sacred. But even by doing so, they had never really expected her to come; with all her malevolence and unrestrained bloodthirst for all things.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Another watcher stood on the sidelines, following the elapsing effects of flying projectiles as they pierced the army of the dead in countless purple eruptions, casting fountains of blood into the polluted air. The undead queen's shadow dashed across the battlefield, throwing a carnage of terrifying proportions onto those who dared trespass at the brink of her borders.

 _So this is what it means to fight fire with fire._

The church would be very upset to learn that evil turned the tides against evil this day. It was a version of the battle for Light's Hope chapel that would never reach the public's ears.

Tirion Fordring clenched his mighty hammer. His chest swelled as he filled his lungs air, preparing himself for what was to come. At the dusk of his long life he was blessed to be given such an opportunity. It would be his last achievement, the one he'd be remembered for.

 _The hour has come!_

" _Knights of the Silver hand!_ " he roared and all around him heavily armored warriors rose to the call. The deafening chorus of steel against steel and bellowing voices rang in Tirion's ears as he with pride met the eager eyes of three hundred men. The light broke through the dark clouds and spread its wings to shed light on the Eastern Plaguelands where the forces of evil wrought destruction upon their allies.

"It is good to see you all, so full of life." He breathed in the smell of the forest. "Today is a big day. At long last the shadows dissipate and the moment of penance come! Blessed by the light, we shall rise from the ashes of Arthas sins and hurl Uther Lightbringer's legacy from the darkness! But this is not his day, nor is it mine. We old men are fading. Seize this moment, _you_ the new generation of heroes: for this is the first day of the fall of the Lich King! Knights of the Silver Hand!

 _"To victory!_ "

 _ **l~~~l**_

From the south, the knights broke through the trees, spread in a wide arc, on towards the unsuspecting forces of undead. To a military commander this might seem a terribly disorganized approach against such overwhelming odds but these were not the common foot-soldiers. Formations would only serve to inhibit this force of a holy calling. With every step of the way, this holy place came to life, infusing each paladin with the strength do his duty.

The clash came and Tirion and his men payed no heed to the tide of ghouls, their distorted, vile frames and mind-chilling shrieks of madness. The long line of mighty hammers rose in unison towards the heavens and arced through the air, _smashing_ into the first line of undead, casting vast expunges of light in their wake. And so, the knights of the silver hand cut through the army of the damned like a scythe's sharp blade closing in on a bundle of wheat.

Hours seemed to pass and littered across the ground, mauled corpses moaned and thrashed, reaching for the feet and legs of the paladins who bested them.

Another corpse flailed its twig-like arms at Tirion in an attempt to drag down him to the filth below. A single scratch would mean a slow death without proper treatment in this realm of disease, Tirion knew as he cracked its rib-cage like an eggshell with one stomp. Screams of madness pierced his ears as ravenous, pupil-less eyes bore into his and Tirion gazed beyond the endless sea of undead that sought to swallow them. Casualties were mounting and the situation seemed more dire than ever.

 _We can't continue on like this!_

"We must cleanse the way!" He roared amidst the turbulent fighting. Brute force was not going to win this battle.

His closest men threw him understandable looks of confusion. But upon witnessing their commander kneeling in prayer: left hand over his thigh and the right holding the hammer steady in the air. His men understood instinctively what must be done. The word spread to each Paladin along the ranks and each heeded their commander's command without doubt. Tirion thanked the light as they in unity formed the shape of a crescent sun, brought alight by their blessed hammers.

Tirion spoke the words in a calm manner, echoed by his brothers as he with a serene look on his face met the wall of rotten flesh and gnarling teeth that surged forward, coming to take his life.

Faith determined what happened next.

Shards of light begun to glimmer increasingly bright in front his face for each word spoken and just when the claws came close enough to gouge his eyes out... the light unfolded. Divine shields wrapped around each paladin and each bubble molded with its neighbor, united to form one long wall of shimmering light.

The scourge reached the kneeling line of brothers in arms, but their skin and flesh sizzled away and burned at the very touch of the protective barrier. The spineless ghoul in front of Tirion roared in outrage and recoiled, shielding it's eyes with one arm from the blinding light, and then like countless other of its kind seemed gripped by a moment of madness and threw itself completely against the barrier.

Tirion stared wide-eyed as the pure light mercilessly disintegrating each undead, erasing without a trace of ash nor smell all that was impure. A thousand souls sang in joy, released from their fleshy prison, and then, as if motivated by this euphoria of freedom, the glimmering bubble of gold expanded, purging more and more bodies into nothing and restored the grass below. The green circle at the center expanded, a dot in the pitch-black sea of the forces of evil, like a star at night.

The scourge learned it best to keep their distance, encircling the knights while a number of figures in black steel emerged seemingly from out of nowhere. Hundreds upon hundreds of these heavily armored ghosts appeared, growling what must be orders in their wicked tongue for quite immediately all other scourge redirected their attention to Sylvanas and the chapel which Tirion and his men sought to protect!

Tirion knew they couldn't stay here, completely immobile. Furthermore, his faith in this seemingly impenetrable conjuration began to wither as the Lich King's most powerful underlings edged closer and that did not bode well. As with all matters holy, faith was what determined the end-result and if he wavered, the shield would be significantly weakened.

"Paladins, we rise!" he shouted at the top of his lungs and they rose as one. It was unlike anything any of them had ever experienced, watching the protective beams of light shoot towards the heavens like fireworks.

Tirion only hoped they wouldn't grow overconfident - holy ground always brought the most unexpected phenomenons but should never be taken for granted. Priests would preach about what they've done here for centuries to come, but only if they survived it! He kept his gaze fixed on the enemy whom he now had a clear visual on, standing firm while the lesser of their kind streamed towards the chapel. His eyes was soon drawn towards the most fierce of the lot, holding a very particular sword.

The thick blade, formed in jagged lines of a scalene shape was a mastercraft by the dwarven king Magni Bronzebeard. He knew it very well, but the once shining sphere on its back no longer adorned a proud silvery blade. Instead Tirion laid witness to a black and cruel looking thing, resembling nothing of its former virtuosity. It saddened him to see the pride of Alexandros having fallen so, but even more did it hurt him to see the man holding it. Even under the heavy, diabolic helmet Tirion knew who this one once were. Few did not know of the young defender of Light's Hope chapel, the hero who drew his last breath defending this place and became its most famous martyr. Alexandros son, Darion stood before him, corrupted into an unrecognizable evil known as a death knight.

"Darion!" he gasped silently.

"Tirion, it's the Ash-!" Robin, his closest vassal shouted and came up next to him. He seemed nervous and Tirion couldn't blame him. These were dire sightings.

"Trust me, I see it." Tirion grunted.

"What are we to do?!"

Tirion put a calming hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't you worry about that, lad. Tell the men to leave Darion and the Ashbringer to me." He declared and swept the line of paladins. They looked good, confident still despite the odds.

"Darion?!" Robin exclaimed, with wide eyes.

Tirion sighed, he should've spared the details. "Calm and focused on the task, I've told you this many times Robin. Now is _not_ the time!"

"Aigh, sir!" Robin replied hastily.

"And be careful!" Tirion cut in. "Stay together, for even on holy ground death knights are not ever to be taken lightly."

With a salute he was away and spread the word. A good lad, one who felt the pressure and wasn't afraid to show it, expressing the distress shared by other too proud to expose themselves. In the end, a silent squadron would always crumble.

Both sides spread out, clear of the two commanders at the very center of the green circle. But Darion was the one to show genuine surprise, looking around himself in a dramatic fashion.

He laughed heartily " _I didn't expect such a cowardly man to dare face me alone! This will be easier than I thought!_ " He mocked. The alien voice behind the helmet sounded hollow to Tirion's ears.

Tirion's looked grave as he spoke. "That is your father's sword you're holding."

"Beautiful, is it not?" Darion yelled and swung the blade proudly in the air. "We were destined to be together." He said, and Tirion found himself remembering the words Alexandros had spoken on the day Darion was promised the sword.

He nodded. "That you were, but such an honor was to be earned, not inherited." He said, walking forward, unafraid of the careless swinging of his enemy.

They now stood just short of sword's reach. Darion was covered completely in steel with the exception of the two glaring white globes for eyes. " _My father is dead!_ " His distorted voice screamed. "And your words hardly seem to have much sway in the matter. I'm holding it, am I not?"

Tirion snorted. "Any man can hold a sword. Wielding it? Now _that_ is another matter."

Judged by the slits for eyes behind that helmet, and the rigid posture, the truth of that statement had hit home.

"I want to hear you say that again when you find yourself impaled on it!" He roared.

Tirion was surprised. Darion had always been a spirited lad, but being juvenile was a new trait. In a parent's patient voice, he called. "I bear you no ill will, Darion. The sacrifices you've made in my absence still weigh heavy on my mind. You shall be rewarded for your former courage, for on this holy ground I shall release you from the Lich King's shackles." He declared.

A statement that did not seem to bring Darion much joy, and Tirion never expected it to. The ones enslaved by the Lich King sees him as their master and liberator, no matter former allegiances. Breaking his hold require another kind of influence... or to be replaced by the likes of Sylvanas.

"Release me?!" Darion screamed, bearing down on Tirion. "You don't know the first thing about me!" Darion's gloves clenched on the sword hilt and brought the blade sideways towards Tirion's shoulder. Hardly a very promising attack. Tirion stepped away from the enraged cleave casually, and meted a blow which Darion quickly scrambled away from. They circled each other, and Tirion couldn't help himself from throwing concerned looks to his fellow paladins standing up to the other death knights. There were struggles on both sides, but the Silver Hand seemed to hold strong. He on the other hand almost lost track of his own fight, as Darion's next slash came much too close to his belly.

"Eyes on me, old man!" He shouted. "We wouldn't want that head of yours to fall off too soon now would we?!"

He berated himself, losing focus on the fight was a rookie mistake. _Get a grip!_

The battle raged on, and the two duelists continued their skirmish at the very center of the green circle, testing each other's skill after a long time apart. Tirion concluded his opponent had developed more brute methods in accordance to his emotional change. A development that wouldn't serve him well. Tirion did not intend to kill him, however, only to incapacitate. And to accomplish that, all he had to do was block this swing, and then..

His hammer shattered.

Helplessly Tirion watched as a million shards and pieces filled the air. The once solid metal shaft in his hands replaced by sharp fragments that pierced his skin. With no to time to block the stab coming to take his life, he simply froze there as the sword penetrated his armor.. and then stopped.

He blinked. Darion was thrusting with all his might, but the blade wasn't moving an inch! Tirion couldn't tell who was more astonished.

" _What did you do?!_ " Darion's maddened scream struck his ears.

 _That was not my doing_ , Tirion thought. _The sword chose to not hurt me!_

Darion let out another angry scream, dropping the sword and looked at Tirion venomously. His mouth hanged open, so upset he was at a loss for words.

Tirion heard the sound of a sharp whistle from his left, a sound that amplified alarmingly. He only caught a glimpse of something purple spearing towards them and his heart skipped a beat.

"Take cover!" He shouted and threw himself to the ground.

But he only managed to cover his face with one arm when the explosion hit, light flashing under his closed eyelids as he was sent tumbling away like a ragdoll.

 _ **l~~~l**_

His chest rose and fell, rapidly and painfully. Everything hurt, and his ears were filled by a thousand banshee screams. His teeth clenched and he managed to sit as best he could. As long as his body was functioning, he would not allow himself to stay down and beaten. He opened his stinging eyes once more and saw that his armor had taken the brunt of the damage. Observing his surroundings, he saw that most were still fighting for their lives, but some had stopped to look over their shoulder, at the center. A center where a small crater had formed, and at its opposite edge, Darion was on his knees next to a broken helmet. His back was turned to Tirion, but beyond the smoke he saw the evident damage he'd suffered.

The arrow had hit his right scapula, tearing his shoulder off cleanly; to the extent that Tirion could see straight through the chest area where his lung should be. Some ways off, the Ashbringer lay abandoned on the ground. Unharmed, as opposed to the bits and pieces, arms, bones and fingers that lay scattered the entire way there.

He made to rise and started a slow wander towards the still kneeling Darion, casting sideway glances in Sylvanas direction the whole time. But no more surprises came from her. In fact, the arrow must've been released the moment Darion had struck him. She is a former elf after all. He suppose she has the eyesight for it, but to have such perception! And the aim goes without saying... He felt a certain sense of respect for the Forsaken Queen just then.

To his surprise, Darion was making to his feet at his approach. He was trying to strike a threatening pose, but just keeping his torso upright seemed a wobbly undertaking. It was a terrible sight as Tirion now saw that he'd taken damage all the way up to his neck and face, showing skeleton and a blotted eye.

Tirion spared him the pleasantries "You've lost, Darion!" He called, willing Darion to stay down. "This battle was over the second your feet touched this holy place. Order your troops to stand down. Let me help you!"

But Darion would have none of it. His words were incomprehensible in his current state, but it was clear he intended to defy Tirion until the very end. Tirion only made out three words: _He is coming!_

Tirion gave a flustered sigh, but he felt sadness at hearing such words from a familiar voice, finding hope where there is none. "Can you not see what you've become, Darion?" he bellowed "You have become all that your father _fought against!_ Like that coward Arthas, you've allowed yourself to be consumed by the darkness, the hate. Feeding upon the misery of ones you've tortured and killed!" He kneeled before him.

"You speak of your master as if he's worthy of trust." He said, and gestured towards the chapel. "But he knows what lies beneath this chapel! He knows what holy ground brings! That is why he dares not show his face. He sent you and your death knights to die, Darion!"

Darion looked struck, his pale face frozen and hard. With slow, controlled words, he managed to say.

"Being smug does not suit you, Tirion. You'd be dead before my feet, had it not been for-" they both turned to the sword in question, as a strange power began to simmer from the blade. Tirion thought he heard voices, but never caught on to what was being said. Judged by the intent expression on Darion's face, it wasn't addressed to him. Tirion remained content however, for as the voices continued to speak, he saw the effect they had on Darion, turning more and more into the young man he once knew.

Then all hell broke loose.

" _You've left yourself exposed, Paladin!_ " A thousand dark voices thundered in his ears and he screamed. Tirion fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the voices continued to rumble and echo each other. " _Oh, how simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding! Now your death is imminent. It was almost too easy..._ "

Dark shadows surrounded him, consuming him, he found himself unable to breathe as the life was sucked out of him. His vision clouded, fading. If he could pass out, he would. The magic kept him between life and death as he was tortured and to be defiled. He couldn't see what was happening around him. Was anyone coming to help? Was there anyone who could? After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a voice call his name out of the darkness, but he couldn't place from where or whom the voice belonged to. All he saw was a glimmer, like a star at night and instinctively he reached for it with his hands. That's when he caught onto something solid, and desperately he held onto it with all the energy he had left to spare.

The darkness shattered.

He was back to the world again, and the world was gold. All except for a couple of black dots, and... He turned around and saw him. A long, dark shadow raising an enormous sword.

Without thinking, he moved his hands up without even registering that there was a sword in them. But he felt that everything went as they had countless times before. The familiar impact of two swords reverberated through his arm, and he blinked again. Now he saw everything clearly.

In his hands he held the Ashbringer, resurrected into the holy blade it once was, shining in front of his eyes like the sun at dawn... And the blade he had stopped was the sword to break all swords: Frostmourne.

" _What is this?!"_ The Lich King roared to terrify and Tirion almost recoiled, even being the seasoned warrior that he is.

What struck him was how large Arthas had become, granted he'd been no small man in his prime, but this.. _thing_ was of the size larger than even a tauren. He realised he wasn't fighting Arthas. He was fighting a monster.

A monster that was struggling. The Lich King recoiled as light clutched at its massive frame, seeking to find the flesh below the dark armor. Even as he moved, the light ensnared his feet and legs, trying to bring him down. Tirion could not pass this opportunity.

His eyes momentarily found Darion's, who was looking at him expectantly. Tirion nodded to him in gratitude, for it was he who had spoken, he who had presented the sword for him. Tirion took courage, gripped the Ashbringer and lunged at the Lich King.

The Ashbringer and Frostmourne clashed once more, and he came face to face with the Lich King, whose horrible breath washed over him as the distinct voice of Arthas penetrated through the chorus. "This is not over," he said, and in a cloud of smoke the king of the dead disappeared into nothing.

" _No!"_ He screamed, slashing through the dark cloud as it blended and disappeared into the open air.

" _Arthas!_ " But there was nothing more he could do. The Lich King had escaped from his grasp.

He clenched his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. He anguished over things he could've done, been quicker, anything that could've ended all of this, right here, right now. But he wasn't allowed to wallow in guilt for long.

Cheers resounded all around him, and surprised, Tirion watched the joyful faces of his knights celebrate victory. The death knights had put down their arms, abandoned by their master. Other undead had turned almost docile. The screams that once raged had softened to mere moaning, their movements slow, but with a sense of direction. The paladin's round sanctuary was like a rock in a stream as they made their way to a new master.

He could see Sylvanas in the distance, standing defiant. Her features resembled some of his own frustration at seeing the Lich King flee. She was so drenched in guts and blood that she looked much the same as the corpses fawning at her. As another undead clinged to her leg helplessly, like a child, she picked it up and cradled it in her arms like a mother would, a mere torso with one arm and a head, looking into her cold eyes longingly. She brought her hand to caress its left cheek, smiling much too sweetly. It's mouth opened, but no sound escaped as its eyes widened more and more. Dry skin fell like leaves, scattered to the wind, and before long, dried pieces of flesh followed. Tirion watched as the withering continued until there was nothing but dust falling between her fingers and the Banshee Queen stood alone again. Even from such a distance, Tirion could feel her challenging gaze.

 _ **l~~~l**_

"How can we pass up on such an opportunity?! She'll be gone for some time, Undercity is exposed, ready to seize!"

Varimathras shook his large head. "It is too early still, and the situation too treacherous. I will not risk years of planning for a sudden opportunity stumbling upon our doorstep."

"But we _have_ the influence! How can we allow ourselves to _not_ take advantage?" Putrus insisted.

"What we need is influence from the _other_ side of the realm. You might have enough for a coup, but it will never work without me doing my part. The time will come, but it will not be determined by your impulsiveness.

Putrus looked none the happier, and Varimathras gave him with a daring gaze.

He winced "I'm capable of containing myself! It isn't me you need to worry about." Putrus said. "It is the patience of other enthusiasts that we need allay. The Royal Apothecary society received no reports on this disturbance by the eastern border. Being kept in the dark on a threat of such magnitude is downright insulting!"

"It was Sylvanas decision to keep things silent." Varimathras replied.

"And you are our informant when such is the case!" Putrus said in an upset voice.

Varimathras, as composed as always, never raised his voice and said. "Whether the council knew or not, would be of little consequence. If you were informed, it would only bring the risk for suspicion."

"You could've told me at the very least! That way-" Putrus was interrupted by the hard beat of a wing.

Varimathras let Putrus squirm under his gaze for a few dangerous moments.

"We will make our move, and soon." He said "When the time is right nothing will stand in our way." he continued, and left the chamber, deep beneath the catacombs of Undercity.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Hours passed and the sun was about to set beyond the horizon.

The battle was long since over and impatiently, Sylvanas drummed her fingernails against the skeletal horse. After a battle of such magnitude the area was buzzing with activity. Hordes of scourge were on the run, fleeing the Forsaken warlocks who busied themselves with mission _subdue and capture_. To the undead the aftermath of a battle was not a field of misery, but a large feast and in the absence of the king, the queen's numbers rose.

 _This has become quite the productive day... but will it prove favorable in the end?_

Her eyes kept wandering to the spot where the Lich King had emerged. Bested... and in such a fashion! Sacred grounds or no, the full power of the high elves had been unable to stop Arthas during his assault on Silvermoon. And now, this single puny human had managed to stop him dead in his tracks with a shiny sword?! If that was all it took for him to defeat the _Lich King_ , what does that say about the prospects for her own future?

Sylvanas cursed. She'd always seen the Argent Dawn as another weak faction: useful in their own right, but ultimately a pest to exterminate when the time was right. And that time seemed to have just passed. Her impulsive decision to aid them might have been her greatest mistake yet.

In the distance the humans were hooting and shouting in accordance to their new hero's flute. He was conducting one of those speeches the humans were so fond of and he entertained quite the audience.

"I hereby unite the Knights of the Silver Hand and the Argent Dawn under one banner! The Argent Crusade will march on Northrend, and together we will tear down the walls of icecrown! Our campaign has begun!" she heard Tirion's final words sound and the grand choir echoed his name.

 _Thinking of snatching Arthas head are you? Don't get ahead of yourself, Tirion Fordring._ _The race for the king's head has only just begun._ After this day there's not a one able to deny his return.

She was about to make her leave when a voice called her name. She turned the horse around and drew a breath to fill her empty lungs.

"If you wish to speak, you may come to me, paladin." she called in a raspy voice.

Tirion made no spectacle out of it, walking confidently across the field towards the undead queen, gathered beyond the borders of holy ground. His men quickly caught up to his heels, surrounding him like a protective mob. Sylvanas did not show him the courtesy of dismounting.

The grey haired man with the sundered armor stood tall as she looked down on him.

"I must thank you for your invaluable aid this day." he said formally, but with surprising warmth. His smile was smudged by the ecstasy of victory, even as he was forced to crane his neck in order to see her atop her horse.

Sylvanas smirked, who did he think he was fooling?

He continued filling the silence nonetheless. "Had you not cut the army in half, me and my paladins would have been too overwhelmed to cut the head of the beast."

She gave him an affirmative nod, as he was not incorrect. She'd slaughtered the lot of them, but it was he who had ultimately repelled the king. The only feat of any real significance.

"We've never seen eye to eye before," he said, doing just so. "But the crusade gathers _all_ in the war against evil. In Northrend we must stand united." He declared.

Does people not consider her evil? she wondered, but never voiced the question. "Do not fret." she said. "You can be assured that Arthas will come to know my Forsaken in Northrend." An answer that confirmed nothing, but Tirion did not try to press her.

 _Not a diplomat, this one._

"I am glad to hear it." He said. "I shall rally the alliance to our cause. it was my hope that we may also feel the full might of the horde at our side as well."

Ah, so he was interested in using her as a some sort of medium with the horde.

Sylvanas bared her teeth at him menacingly. "Don't overstep your bounds, _human!_ You've made a powerful display this day, but don't let it go to your head. The Horde, like myself, serves itself, and not your new crusade," she growled.

"I'd never dream of the like." He said quickly. "This is but an invitation. I know Thrall will hear my words, all I ask is for you to permit my sending a letter through your network."

Sylvanas looked at him curiously. Friend of the warchief? Just when did Thrall find another human friend? Then she remembered. "Oh, I think I _have_ heard about you. You were the one who saved one of Thrall's fellow slaves, what was his name?"

"Eitrigg, Eitrigg was his name." He said, and Sylvanas could see him grow more anxious. She knew who he was of course, but her intent was to make him uncomfortable. He never did make introductions, a most haughty assumption.

"Yes, yes. So it was, _Tirion Fordring_. You may go through with your invitation _.._ and I do wish you luck. I myself have made the attempt to convince the warchief of taking the battle to Northrend, but he's proved reluctant to _commit_." She said, almost spitting out the last word. Among the horde, she was hardly alone with the opinion that Thrall had grown too soft.

Tirion nodded in acknowledgement. "Thrall is wise and patient, but after today's confrontation, I don't believe any faction will stay idle. The Lich King has arisen, of that many has witnessed today." Tirion said confidently, but she could see tire simmer in his eyes.

"Is it past your bedtime, old man?" she scoffed.

He made a slight frown, but unwilling to give in completely and show himself as insulted.

"I can't deny the effect time has on my bones. It has been quite a battle." he replied, then continued more broodingly. "With too many casualties."

She smirked. "If you feel at a loss I can easily replenish your numbers." she said in a mischievous manner.

"Absolutely not!" he said harshly with wide, angry eyes.

 _That woke him up,_ she thought and spoke. "If you intend to make war on the Lich King you cannot allow yourself to go soft, old man."

His stance now took a very aggressive manner, and her goal was finally met as in a resentful voice he said. "I want to make this perfectly clear, what you do with the scourge, that's outside my control, but touch my men I shall take it as a personal offense!"

Sylvanas face darkened "Do not try to order me around, commander. This is your second warning, and there won't be a third." She shot a look to the west. "As of this moment, my armies march on this place. Initially meant to engage the Lich King's forces, but.. do you believe you could withstand a second assault, commander?"

"You wouldn't!" He exclaimed.

She smirked "Maybe I won't." she said. "Maybe i'll just continue to retrieve and discard the Lich King's sundered forces from your soiled grounds as I see fit. But then I want something in return."

Tirion grunted "Haven't we made you a favor already, ending the battle here, leaving you only to pick up the spoils of war? There are many renegade scourge for you to capture instead of backstabbing like some hyena!"

 _Now he's getting feisty! It was almost too easy.._

"But well, of course i'm grateful for your little gesture! And i've already struck a deal with the Argent Dawn, so you needn't worry about that," she said with a wink. "But don't forget, Tirion, that all of this is ultimately your fault, and therefore I want something from you."

"My fault?!" He said indignantly, but she could see he knew what she was hinting at and gave him a stern look. Playing oblivious was the quickest route to lose her respect. "The Lich King's reason for _all of this_ was to obtain you. I heard his words, _you_ put this on _my_ doorstep. Don't play that game with me."

But before Tirion had the chance to retort, Sylvanas held up a hand to silence him. "All i'm asking is a visit." She said.

Tirion composed himself slightly. "A visit?" He asked.

"I want you.." She said, pointing deliberately at him. "To come to Undercity."

He didn't outright object, instead gave her a bewildered look. "But, why?"

Sylvanas tilted her head slightly to the side, as if indicating that the answer to that question was given. "You've united the Argent Dawn and the Silver Hand, even formed a pact with the Ebon Blade death knights. As the representative of this Argent Crusade of yours, it is only courtesy for you to visit me. As a new organization, you might otherwise run into unexpected complications."

Tirion paused, seemingly deep in thought. She hadn't expected a quick answer.

"If you are frightened of my home, you will never breach the Lich King's" She said.

Tirion looked at her suspiciously.

She chuckled "Come now, commander. You shouldn't decline a lady's invitation."

Tirion sighed. He knew the smart thing to do would be to postpone, figure out what she was after. But he didn't _want_ to back down, he wanted to appear strong, and visiting the Banshee Queen's lair would show his determination and bravery. And foolishness, but such things goes hand in hand. If her intent really was to murder him, or worse.. Then it really was his first trial on the road to the Lich King's throne.

"Very well, I accept." He declared loudly, to his men's surprise and Sylvanas content. "A message will be brought to you, when first i'm able." Protests could be heard, but he silenced them.

"That's what I like to hear," she said with almost childish content, turning into one of curiousity as Tirion busied himself with rummaging through the small pouch at his side.

"One moment." He said and then withdrew a necklace of the purest sapphire and held it out to Sylvanas.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said, causing her to raise a brow in wonder. There was something familiar about that bright blue color, but she could not place its origin in her mind.

Reluctantly she dismounted, her curiosity getting the better of her. She walked up to Tirion, who seemed pleased with finally being face to face, and at the same altitude. It became more of a nervous stand-off, as he was almost tranced by the depth of her red eyes.

She studied him. an elderly man with hard wrinkles and a few patches of grey. Despite his age, he was able to retain that undeniable strength you see in the most hardened of men, coupled with the confidence of a commander.

His men, gathered in a crescent around him looked almost as confident as their commander, perhaps the true testament of his influence, especially in the face of someone like herself. They looked slightly nervous, but she expected nothing else. She took the necklace from his grasp, making sure he felt the coldness of her skin. He did not flinch.

Turning the necklace, she found the inscription she hadn't known her mind had instinctively been looking for:

 _'To Sylvanas. With love, always, Alleria.'_ it read, and a flicker of emotion washed over Sylvanas features as she took in her elder sisters writing.

Tirion devoured this break of character with hungry eyes. "Especially in dark times, we must not forget who we are." he said broodingly.

Sylvanas shook her head. "Forget?" she said. "Don't throw some sense of pity in my face, Paladin." She spat.

He did not back down. "To say there is hope, is not to belittle."

She gave a frustrated sigh. "Then let me return you the favor, Tirion Fordring," she said in a stern voice.

Sylvanas put Alleria's necklace around her neck and exchanged it with her one treasure next to her bow.

She held it out to Tirion, who looked appalled "Will you then also accept this relic of man, in exchange?" she said in a tone carrying a sense of mockery.

Tirion stared at the atrocity: a ripped off raven's leg on a dark cord, bending and twitching in the air. Within its claws, it clenched onto a black stone, slowly pulsing a strange red color from its core.

"What is this?" he asked, looking at Sylvanas with wide eyes. He saw her pale face had turned from somber to a sneer, the tables have turned again.

"Oh, please. Humour me with a guess," she said.

Tirion could think of few things that would hit true to its mark, so he said the one thing he knew to be true. "It is evil."

She made a slow nod. "That is true. The more accurate assessment however, would be that this is the last remnant of the prophet Medivh."

He looked at the leg again in surprise and recognition. Medivh was known in many tales to take the form of a raven when he so desired, but could _this_ really be the guardian? His story and fate was different to his memory.. but then again there are many legends and myths regarding his life, and even _lives_ as some say. Knowing what to be true regarding the figures of myth is a mystery in itself.

"And just how have you come to this conclusion?" he wondered.

Her red eyes bore into him, she did not appreciate having her word questioned. Tirion wondered how something so colorful could feel so cold.

"The dead talk," she said. "I believe I am a clear evidence of that fact, but to spare you the drawn out details: simply see for yourself. One with your abilities should have an easy enough time deciphering the truth of something like this."

"What aspect of my abilities are you referring to exactly?" He wondered

"You said it was evil. Indulge me."

Tirion understood then. He reached out to touch the undead skin, and it too seemed as reluctant as he was to it, coiling and writhing away from his touch. It was magical, even the pulsing gem in its claws seemed powerful enough to rival Medivh. He was surprised Sylvanas would offer him such a thing..

He bit down on his revulsion and snatched the raven's leg to him as Sylvanas dangled it in front of his face. Finally in his grasp he willed it to be still, as it did not seem pleased at having been abandoned by its master. He forced himself to focus harder, despite the distracting movements. Then he felt it.

The very slightest, smallest shard, but it's origin was undisputable. A whisper of the legion, of Sargeras himself. Too small and old to be a direct threat, but..

"This.. This is to be handled with great care, not as a trinket, Sylvanas." he spurted out.

Sylvanas sneered at him. "Would you protect me then? Wear it to the rest of your days, to honor what once was?" she said, repeating his own words in a sarcastic fashion.

Tirion actually considered it for a moment, but in the end he knew he could not. It would corrupt him in a way he could not risk, not now. Even to test his strength of faith.

The Dark Lady's triumphant gaze beamed out of the corner of his eye, she'd known his answer from the very start. "I honor my past, but I know what is." she said, putting the necklace around her neck. "And I do not stray."

He watched her as she wandered off to her horse, mounting it with an agile leap.

"We shall meet again, Tirion." she said holding up a hand in farewell.

Watching the Banshee Queen lead her people away, Tirion couldn't help but suspect that a new tyrant of the undead was on the rise to replace the one they meant to defeat. But he knew such thinking would spell doom as sure as anything.

No, now he understood more than he ever did before, and truly why Sylvanas chose to name her people the Forsaken. Because forsaken to the world they truly were, lost souls meeting only revulsion and hate, and then pity. A pity she despise, because pity only breeds empty hope.

Her games and simple minded hostility had fooled him. The dare she proposed was not only about the past, but a symbolic truce for the future. If his intentions are true, to restore balance and fight evil, then balance must be made.

He was not ready for such a commitment, not yet. But perhaps when the Helm of Domination lay covered in snow, he'll consider aiding her one day, in guiding the Forsaken onto a better path. With everything that entails.

 **l~~~~l**

Sylvanas entered her chambers. She'd seen a glint in Tirion's eyes, one that could bode well for the future. This day had developed into the promise for a very profitable future. She walked up to the extravagant marble altar supplemented with a number of her personal items, and leaned on it to further inspect the newly acquired necklace.

 _It's been a long time since anyone courted me with jewellry.. I even have a date,_ she thought to herself sarcastically.

The pretty thing looked out of place in this gloomy environment, but she was happy it had found its way home. Something her sisters never did, scattered to the wind at their family's darkest hour.

Arthas destroyed their home and took her life, but it is the loss of her two sisters and brother that hurt the most. Her sisters are still alive, and yet she hasn't heard a word from any of them, nothing at all. Not a sign or indication that they have even recognized she still exist.

But that is hardly an unusual stance for the living to take. She might not be dead, but the Sylvanas in life is dead to the rest of the world.. even if she herself is not of the same opinion. They say she has changed, that she's become sinister and twisted, resembling nothing of what she once was. But that is only the natural course of things after everything she's been through..

She had expected more from them. She felt betrayed. While she'd suffered at the hand of a tyrant, raped and broken into a revulsing form, they willingly went away, abandoning her to whatever fate awaited.

Five years has passed, and she's devoted her mind and ability to expand the Forsaken and its interests. For it is her only sense of security, in a world that's become very alien to her. Everyone sees her as the enemy, someone to shut out. Never will she let her domain crumble, no matter the cost.

Her long ears twitched at the sharp clattering of bones hitting stone.

Putrus caught only a glimpse of her face tormented by bitter thoughts, before he quickly bowed low. He did not want her to catch him ogling. In terms of formalities, there are times when he takes his chances, but that day was not today.

"My Queen.. You called for me?" he said wonderingly, before rising to his former, slightly crooked form. He's learned that in the Queen's court it is better to be oblivious than guilty. She smell blood from miles away.

Not that he was rewarded by any generosity from his Queen, rather he felt the temperature of the room plummet with every word she spoke.

"But, yes, of course Putrus. Would you please tell me of your business with the Worgen?" she said in a neutral voice, but her stern features spoke otherwise as she turned a necklace over in her hands. He didn't know what to make of it, his queen has never taken a fancy to trivial accessories. Perhaps it was magical.

His throat made a loud gurgling sound, he had no time to think of such things. "They are fine specimen, my Queen. Strong, magical, many of them elven. They make for interesting and yielding research," he stopped at her fierce expression.

"At _my_ expense?! It would seem you've forgotten many important concepts. One being _discretion_." She snapped.

"Discreet is my middle name, my Queen!" He got out. "But the Worgen are wretched animals, working in _packs_!" he said, spitting out the last word. "It is hard even to find a stray to capture, and when opportunity do arise, they find tracks, and catch scents several days old!"

Sylvanas made a discontented sigh and turned her head, finally bothering to face his way. "Your place as head of the royal apothecary is founded on the grounds that you are able to find solutions where there are none. If you deem yourself incapable of doing so, then I shall find someone who can." She said.

"That will not be necessary, my Queen!" He insisted "I have already set new plans to avoid further hassle."

She shook her head. "No. Send them to Varimathras, he will gather whatever resources the Apothecaries are in need of. You are relieved of any duties regarding the Worgen, and there will be a higher level of supervision regarding future projects."

She put the necklace away and walked to a table of scripture. Putrus stood as if beaten over the head. "Was there anything else?" he said after many long and silent moments had passed. He knew she was playing him into relaxing his guard. She smirked, and he wondered if she had counted the seconds until his patience broke.

"There was. I suspect you've heard what has occurred in the Western Plaguelands?" she said, unwinding a paper roll.

"That I have, the Council was.. _Surprised._ But the Lich King showed himself inferior." He said.

Sylvanas took no heed to his hint. "His performance hardly measured up to any high standards, no. And we are on the march." she flinged a parchment his way. It toppled on the hard floor. She watched him bend over to pick it up from off the floor and begun reading

When his face flushed with delight, she continued. "Bring this to the council: ready our fleets, Northrend shall hear the banshee's howl."

"Revenge shall be ours, my Queen! I promise you Arthas head on a _spike!_ " But his manic delight cooled off as he saw the look on her face.

Her evil smirk taunted him. "I've thrown you a bone, Putrus. Now kneel." She said, and he did so, even knowing what was coming next.

She walked up to him and put a hand on his head, covered by a black hood. Pushing his head backwards, she forced him to meet her gaze, as the smell of burning filled the air. It was hard inflicting pain on the undead, and he didn't make a sound. But behind those wide eyes she saw the face of agony.


	4. Chapter 3 - Home

**Home**

 _ **l~~~l**_

The small boy was lying on the ground, unable to comprehend the violence that raged all around him. His legs wouldn't move, no matter how he tried. His instincts told him to flee, anywhere but this alien place and desperately he tried to fulfill that body's impulse. He crawled helplessly across the ground while blood spewed out on the dead grass, though he did not recognize that fact, all numb as the sound of battle raged around him. Through cloudy vision he saw the shaky images of elves and undead fighting and wondered how they could move so fluidly. The whole world was shaking, how come they did not notice?

It was cold. So cold, and he knew it shouldn't be, it was strange. He also knew he wasn't supposed to be way out here in the wilderness, but couldn't help himself. Surely mom and pop would come and get him anyway? Just like they always did... A sickly figure stumbled unsteadily towards him. He'd seen one of it's kind before, _the_ _wretched_ , said to once have been elves but.. he knew they were different, never nice to anyone. They hurt people.

Frozen there on the ground while the creature swayed towards him, he thought of all the things he could and could not do. To move, to run, to fight. But all he did was curl up in a small ball and hoped all the bad things would just go away. Minutes, hours seemed to pass until he suddenly felt a cold hand clutch his shivering arm. Pain shot through his wrist as he was slowly raised into the air like a kitten lifted by the scruff. But he refused to stop playing dead no matter how much it hurt. His eyes clenched tight, even as a voice told him to open them. A thumb came to his eyes and forcefully pried one open.

"This one is infected too, my lady!" He heard a gnarling voice shout next to his ear.

" _Kill him._ " Was the short response from somewhere in the distance and before the boy could even comprehend what was about to happen, he writhed at the excruciating pain in his chest. It lasted only for a moment, before the blade clawed it's way through the flimsy bones of his rib cage and pierced his heart. And everything faded.

 ** _l~~~l_**

Sylvanas watched the boy drop and hit the ground with a dense thud. A softer sound compared to the Wretched her arrow had nailed to the ground. She gave the small corpse another moment of thought, wondering what such a small thing was doing all the way out here. A sigh escaped her lips and then she motioned the skeletal horse across the field to meet up with the Blood Elf captain who was busy issuing commands for his band of soldiers. The last scourge fled through the woodworks but only a dozen or so made it out.

He turned towards her when she came close.

"It would seem you have trouble keeping the roads safe, Captain Vare'lon." She said and watched the young man tilt his head, staring at the ground, fuming where he stood. He was angry, but he knew his place.

"Cat's caught your tongue?" She said when he didn't must a response.

"You killed that boy." He replied with open animosity.

He was infected by the plague. You may inspect for yourself if you wish a second confirmation." Sylvanas told him, but that didn't serve to satisfy the moral upset that seemed to haunt him. With long, golden hair and a lean, handsome face of the fair-skinned type, he owned the kind of charm that's always brought him luck with the women, but not so much with the soldiers he was meant to lead to battle. There were women in the army too, of course. But that hardly helped matters.

"There is always chance for recovery if help arrives in time! But you never gave him that chance, all you gave him was a swift execution! A small boy!" His features were not as pretty anymore, strained and angry.

 _What a waste._

Sylvanas sighed and looked up to the sky. "Tell me where we are, captain." She replied.

Vare'lon squinted at her. He knew that voice from long ago. She was about to give him a lecture. "The scorched grove." He replied and hated himself for playing along. This was no creature to make conversation with. She was the devil.

Sylvanas made a nod and a praising smile. "Many miles from Starbreeze village, or any other village for that matter. Now, the responsibility for your civilian's safety is not mine, that duty is yours, commander. Once infected, every create fall under my jurisdiction, as according to the agreement made, and it clearly states that any blood elves affected by the plague are mine to kill and not to take control of. I hold my end of the bargain, quickly and efficiently. So if it is your wish for a better result, _captain,_ then perhaps you should take your own duties a bit more seriously in the future."

His face contort in pain at the barrage and made a sharp intake of breath "I knew my commander," he said looking her square in the eye, something very few people dared. "I looked up to her, I respected her, but you. You're nothing remotely like her. You might wear her face, but with every act and every word you speak, you mutilate my memory of her." He dropped his eyes again, but she had not missed the raw emotion play on his face. It reminded her so of the shy, compassionate young recruit back in the days.

"But if it's true, that I am nothing like who I was... Then I suggest you be _very_ careful with your next set of words, young man. They say i'm capable of just about anything"

Vare'lon swallowed in fear, knowing he'd gone too far.

"I take full responsibility for this inconvenience on your travels, mistress Sylvanas," he said."On behalf of the Sin'dorei I apologize and promise there will be no further delays."

She snorted and shook her head. "Pathetic! Do you actually believe formalities will save you, hmm?"

"I- I-" He tried but she silenced him by raising her hand dismissively.

"Spare me another speech. It's time we cleaned up here." She declared.

He looked surprised "That may take some time, we shouldn't delay any further!" He said.

She made a sly smile. "Then I suggest you make haste. Now _get to it, soldier!_ "

He made an affirmative nod and wandered off to shout commands and came into his element again. There was resistance to his leadership still, she could tell. But he seemed to have learned that pursuing the objective with relentless determination was key, no matter the atmosphere around him. He never saw Sylvanas approving gaze.

His soldiers looked a little winded, but there were no casualties, and hardly a scratch on any of them. They worked as a unit, carrying bodies, calming horses and gathered whatever arrows were still whole from unmoving flesh and dirt. She saw one of the soldiers carefully pick up the boy and brought the child to his saddle, draping him in his cloak. Whatever prejudice Vare'lon's looks might trigger, one couldn't deny he made up for it in more ways than one.

Without uttering a sound, she released her own subjects to do her bidding, old and new. She had brought only a handful of her own from Undercity, but she'd taken control of a hundred more in this skirmish. A good omen for what's to come. The former scourge went to work on their former allies, gathering them up into two two large piles of bone and flesh. The soldiers who'd initiated this tenuous task came to idly stand and watch as the strange event unfolded, faces marked with bewilderment as the dead carried the dead.

A handful blood mages soon gave their contribution, setting the piles ablaze, an inferno that reached for the skies. Unlike the holy light the paladins at the chapel had summoned, the odor this produced was terrible, and soon the blood elves kept their distance. No doubt relieved that they needn't go near while her minions continued to throw more fuel to the fire. The last corpse was tossed and with it, she ordered the last of them to Tranquillien to be taken care of by her Warlocks.

The Blood Elves gathered, surrounding Sylvanas and her bodyguards in tight formation. And so they were on their away.

 _ **l~~~l**_

After the Third War when Arthas came and destroyed the west half of Silvermoon, many new policies and security measures was put in place. One in particular caused major upset, for it stated that nothing of _the ether_ may pass the magical wards of the city... in short this means that portals, teleportation, summonings, everything was thoroughly on lock-down within Silvermoon's magical sphere. Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

Not that Sylvanas minded, in fact it felt more inviting. She's been to Orgrimmar several times, but she'd only ever seen the interior of Thrall's throne room. How the rest of the city looked and it's surrounding areas, she could only guess.

Her escort cantered on in a fast pace. It was only when they were halfway to Silvermoon that Vare'lon spoke to her once more.

"That was disturbing.. but efficient." He told her, referring to the skirmish earlier, and its aftermath.

She curled a lip. "You wish I'd visit more often, don't you?"

"I honestly can't deny it. Ever since the Lich King's awakening our struggles have increased tenfold. The undead have grown more organized, more _aware_ , if you get my meaning." She did. It's what she's told everyone from the beginning. And no one believed her. "And as we you saw back there: with a knack for ambush."

She gave him an annoyed stare. "My warning of such a development came well ahead of time." She said.

He looked flustered. "And had we heeded that warning, many lives could have been saved!" He responded begrudgingly, and she understood the fault lay higher up the ranks.

He shook his head "Do you know how many undead there are... in the Dead Scar?" He asked out of the blue.

She thought about that for a moment, tapped into the crawling presence that lurked beneath their feet and all around. "You won't deplete the Dead Scar in your lifetime. I can tell you that much - not in the way you're approaching it."

Vare'lon looked as if she'd struck him and Sylvanas returned him a look that was almost sympathetic. "One of the many reasons why we are taking the battle to Northrend," she said.

He shook his head in defeat. "There is so too much on our plates already, spread thin. In our current state we simply aren't able to also go to war."

Sylvanas watched the trees and the ground become ever greener as they crossed another bridge over another contaminated river. "The blood elves are not the sole victims of the Lich King's assaults. This is not a matter of convenience, this is a matter of survival and I've taught you all about that. if we don't make our move before winter arrives your losses will only become greater."

"I understand." He said, and of course he did. He wasn't stupid. She knew his leaders were beginning to grasp the issue as well, but they are selfish and insecure with their current position.

She eyed him. "Don't waste your time here. Your talents are better used on the front lines. When your government decide to rally the troops, make sure you don't allow yourself to draw the short straw." She advised and saw him bite his tongue at the praise. But he did sit just a little prouder in the saddle. In the world of Blood Elves, flattery goes a long way. Especially when it's the truth.

"I'm sorry about what I said before I-"

" _Don't. Be. So. Juvenile._ " She hissed dangerously. "The only reason i'm saying this is so that I can kill you and enslave you in Northrend once there are no witnesses to see." She said and felt his shocked gaze bore into her from the side. "Trust your gut, like you did back there, no second guessing."

Slack-jawed Val'eron paled, confused with her threat and shifting personality. He no longer knew what to think.

They said nothing for the rest of the ride.

 _ **l~~~l**_

"Dark Lady. It is with joy that I warmly welcome you once again to Quel'Thalas." said a pleasant voice. "Allow me to express our deepest gratitude in respect for the invaluable aid the Forsaken has brought in our war against the Scourge. May we always stand side by side against our enemies. Your visit has long been awaited and the council is expecting you in the palace. And- I suspect refreshments are still not on the menu." The slight female said, the last bit most certainly her own idea of a joke amongst the song of fed lines.

Sylvanas peered at the small girl, whose long, blonde hair glistened in the sun.

"No, little one. Furthermore, I am on urgent business. Let us not keep the honorable regents waiting. This is not the day for a casual stroll." She replied.

"Yes, Mistress Sylvanas." the girl complied and rewarded Sylvanas with a pair of sparkling green puppy-eyes.

 _She is such a feeble little thing._ Sylvanas thought, and they upped the pace.

The first time Sylvanas was given an invitation to Silvermoon after much coercion and manipulation, it had been a most formal one, very brief and dull. But on her second visit she'd taken the liberty to push her escort into taking them down a different route, for her to explore the city more thoroughly. On their way, she'd been very surprised to see a half-elf in the capital of a race that took such pride in their pure bloodlines. Having piqued her interest, she ordered the shy girl to come forth and guide her through the city and its ongoing recovery... Somewhere along the line, the girl just happened to become the one appointed to welcome Sylvanas on every visit. No one else wished nor dared, for it certainly was far from an appreciated job to stand by the side of the queen of the dead.

"The people are very pleased with your continued support." Sylvanas heard Jaina say in a mechanical voice. Around them, countless glares of revulsion contradicted that statement to it's fullest effect.

Sylvanas expected little else.

The girl had introduced herself simply as Jaina, but from there it didn't take Sylvanas long to figure out from where she hailed, as disturbing as that was... There were few who hadn't heard of Kael'thas Suntrider's manic obsession for lady Proudmoore. Who the actual mother was, that was anyone's guess. Jaina herself might have an idea, but Sylvanas felt quite certain that whoever it was, she was long dead. Judged by the burn marks that covered the one side of Jaina's face, no one was spared from Kael'Thas last days of madness.

"The recent aid from the Argent Dawn has proved especially fruitful, having brought new life to many parts of the city. This waterfall for example has finally been cleansed, bringing much needed water to the less fortunate." Jaina Sunstrider said, and gestured towards the roaring cascade of water that almost drowned her voice as it surged down rivers and lakes within the city of gold, green and red. Another large gateway passed above them, leading to another district and looking up you could see the red haze that was the sky, a side-effect of the layers of wards and shields protecting the city both inside and out.

"Lor'themar has been announced the regent lord and will be attending with the council." Jaina informed her, though it was no news no Sylvanas.

"So, Lor'themar has grown into the position of Regent Lord has he?" Sylvanas mused. "Things certainly change quickly around here."

"Everyone says you are here to promote the assault on Northrend." Jaina said, the first words that seemed truly her own. There was still little warmth in her voice, indicating that something was seriously wrong this day. Sylvanas made a sideways glance to her companion. There was a clear difference to her gait and posture. Her eyes didn't wander with shy curiosity like they used to. Instead she stared emptily down on the road ahead of them in slumped defeat. And she wasn't just tired or deterred by her brethren's harsh behavior.

"That is true." Sylvanas replied simply.

Jaina's eyes wandered across the many people watching them. "You make quite the public presence, walking like this. If we do go to war, you will be blamed for every family member lost in it."

Sylvanas nodded "That is the point. Your officials will not want to go to war. Many of them are newly instated and wish to maintain public opinion. If they can blame their decision on me however, they get a way out of it, and that is my card." Sylvanas said casually. "They will throw a scene and refuse. But eventually they must give in. They have no choice in the matter."

Jaina gave her a sideways glance. She hadn't expected that.

"But, why?" She asked meekly. "After everything you've done, the people have begun to support you. Do you intend to just throw all that way?"

"I'm not here to make friends, little one. I am the whip, making sure what has to be done gets done." Sylvanas answered.

Jaina smiled impishly "Sometimes I feel like you're my only friend."

Sylvanas burst out in a guttural laugh which caused many onlookers to frown their way. Her croaking was less than charming, and she Jaina shrunk away from the attention it brought.

"You are the second one today, let me tell you. You should visit Undercity some day, and we'll see how your perspective on the matter might change."

"Perhaps I will" she said mysteriously.

 _Planning something, are we?_ Sylvanas thought. "The Forsaken and the Blood Elves will never be true allies. Our cooperation is based on the scourge's constant hunger for chaos and little else."

Jaina smiled. "We're lucky then that the world is in constant chaos." She quipped.

"Constant imbalance certainly is the state of Azeroth" Sylvanas agreed.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Sylvanas wandered in an intense stride back and forth. The majority of the council was gathered, seated in long rows, eyes wide with excitement, following the Banshee Queen's every movement while fidgeting nervously in their seats. She felt like a wild animal in a zoo, without a cage. And any moment now she felt like ripping someone's head off.

 _They are late._ She thought, clenched her fists and occupied her mind with with the many magical objects decorating this luxurious hall. To defy gravity and twirl and swirl seemed the main theme with every piece of eye-candy: an assortment of everything from molten gold of intertwining geometric shapes, to water sculptures coming to life and put on a pretty performance of dance and song.

The key figures had yet to show their pretty faces and if the reason was to put on a display of power at her expense, that would be their first mistake this summit. Far above, a large phoenix slept on a metallic nest, lighting up the round room in fire and awe.

...

Finally. In the distance, the sharp clatter of heels approached and Sylvanas shot a look towards the balcony, the one entrance to the vault-like conference chamber.

Lor'themar and another five elves appeared, looking as important as they could visibly muster. Two long marble stairs licked the walls of the round room and the group seemed in no hurry to make their way down the right lane.

 _Just relax while you can._ Sylvanas thought through half-closed slits. If there's one thing they should know, it's that she hold no patience for theater and drama.

 _And wasting my time._

"Ah! Mistress Sylvanas. You must forgive our _slight_ delay. These are busy days in our nation's history, with many issues to demand our immediate attention." The elf with the most pompous, aristocratic ulterior said.

Sylvanas made no indication that she'd heard him. After several long, tenuous moments of silence the man looked around uncertainly and drew a sharp intake of breath.

"Well, shall we?" He said nervously and with a brief gesture levitated a throne-like chair for her to make a seat.

" _You will be reminded of your priorities._ "She whispered.

"What?"

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow. "I require no such thing."

Lor'themar seemed to blink himself out of a trance by the man's side. "There has been too much sitting for me as well. I also would not object to stand." He said.

The councilman who still had not introduced himself raised his hands in defeat. "As the two of you wish." He said and gestured for the rest of them to be seated.

Sylvanas crooked her head slightly to the side as she and Lor'themar now stood alone among sheep.

She must admit he's become quite the impressive character, especially in contrast to the schooled mages with their slim, milky skin. Lor'Themar, on the other hand seemed to have let himself be vastly more affected by the elements, granting him well earned, leathery skin. His features were hard and a set of very long and angry eyebrows adorned his face, stretching all the way to his ears. His long white hair was bound high up on his head to wove down his back in a wide angle. All in all he looked very impressive and majestic, perhaps too much theatrics for her taste, but he was sure to swoon the council members to stop and listen, looking like a majestic hero and not some barbaric and gruff general.

"So, the object at hand is-" The same councilman said, trying to take charge again.

Sylvanas left him no slack, whipping out words that echoed throughout the chamber " _The horde demands the Sin'dorei rangers and magi as well as the Blood Knights, Lor'Themar. Why have this calling fallen on deaf ears, Lor'themar?!_ "

Lor'themar took a broad stance. "The Warchief's request has reached my ears, but he is unaware of our situation. My troops have only just emerged victorious in the civil war and require time to recover. This coupled with the organized scourge assaults, currently on a rampage all across our lands demand our immediate attention. We are simply unable comply at this very moment." He declared and his powerful voice rang, trained from many years of shouting orders.

Sylvanas did not seem pleased with this answer. "You only just picked up your swords, and already it's time for rest? Have I not taught you better?" She asked her former left hand man and took the conversation down a different route. A narrow path which further excluded any of the other councilmembers to participate.

"I cannot ask this of my men, Sylvanas. They deserve time with their families, mourn the dead and rest. I have promised them so much." He said.

She was probably the only one who could see the signs that he was truly dead tired. And if he was tired, his men would be worse for wear.

"Now is not the time to grow slack." She said. "As much as you and I remain averse at having an orc for a leader, we cannot deny they understand how the world works." She stepped up and addressed the rest for the first time... "Even in our time of glory, were we ever really prepared for a full scale attack? We grew careless, putting our faith in the protection of our wards, you still do. And now that the Lich King's forces reign, you've _promised_ your army some time off?" She walked up to him, face to face. She was forced to look up, for he was slightly taller.

"War is always at the borders," she said. "And you must always be prepared to fight to the very end, or face annihilation."

He made a sharp intake of breath. "Mind your tongue, Dark Lady! In life you were my commander, don't delude yourself into thinking you are anymore. I am the Lord Regent of the Blood Elves, you do not lecture _me_!"

She tsked. "I'm reminding you of how history has repeated itself, don't allow yourself to succumb to the same mistakes as your ancestors, nor the same pride. Our people have suffered enough."

He scoffed " _Our_ people? I don't know what to believe, you have the features of Sylvanas Windrunner, but you are no longer of _our_ people." He said, looking around him, and he was rewarded with many nods. "My commander was the protector of Silvermoon, and she _failed_."

Sylvanas knew she should feel pain and sorrow to hear that, but she only grew tired. She sighed. "We won many battles, you and I. Our final loss proved to be our utter demise. I'm not trying to start another game of blame. It is true, I can no longer call myself High Elven, or even a Blood elf, as you've now so cleverly named yourselves." She said. "But you cannot deny the weight my words carry. The Blood Elves _need_ to stand strong."

The same councilman now stood up next to the Lord Regent."And that is why we have decided to stay put and mind our defenses. We expect the scourge will grow even more ferocious now that their master has returned." He said.

Sylvanas scowled at him to force him back with the herd. He sat down again, trying to make it appear as if that had been his intention

She turned to Lor'themar again."The one responsible for the state of Silvermoon has laid his throat bare and his sword raised to the sky! Have you forgiven so soon?" Sylvanas searched Lor'themar's face for a reply, and when he gave nothing verbally, she continued.

"Well, I have not! You named yourself Blood Elves for the blood that was spilled that day, and now is the time for revenge! Are you telling me that all you stand for are nothing but empty words?!"

An outcry of protests were voiced at this and Lor'themar held up a hand to promote calm. "Be reasonable Sylvanas, if I had men to spare, I would, but our hands are already full. More lives would be lost if I let our borders weaken."

She bared her teeth. "You've heard of the Scourge attack on Light's Hope chapel. Rallied by their master's call, it was a force that would break whatever line of defense you could now muster to defend your villages. There is no time for you to waste!

"We-"

" _I DON'T CARE!"_ her banshee scream screeched through the chamber and the crazed look on her face shook her audience out of their wits.

" _Arthas must die for what he has done!_ "

When the long echoes had faltered, one could hear wings beat nervously above. Her voice still rang with anger. "For a while now, my people have stood guard in these lands, and it is by my hand that you have _any_ place within the Horde." she said.

"You _will_ aid us in Northrend, or I shall cease to aid you in Quel'Thalas." She continued with a bitter voice.

Lor'themar looked down on the floor with a concerned look. The council member by his side soon gave him the sign to go ahead. He looked defeated, and said.

"We will be there."

 _ **l~~~l**_

Sylvanas made a slow nod in acknowledgement, and the meeting was adjourned. It had went even quicker than she'd expected. She turned to Jaina, who'd dutifully been waiting. "I suppose that's that." Sylvanas said.

Jaina shook her head. "No."

Sylvanas gave her a quizzical look. "No?"

Jaina took a deep breath and shouted. "Please, _Wait!_ " She shouted, and everyone turned to look at her. Sylvanas suspected few had ever heard her voice, and no one had heard her raise it.

 _Oh, boy. This is bound to be good,_ she thought. When a shy person seeks public attention, there is sure to be drama.

"What is it, girl?" One of them asked, but everyone soon continued making their leave. "Yesterday!" She tried, but at this point they'd all lost interest and ignored her.

" _Yesterday!"_ She screamed this time, and some jumped in surprise. Sylvanas saw now that tears streamed down her face.

Jaina didn't want to do this, she hated being the center of attention. But she knew she had to. "Yesterday I was assaulted, _in my own home_!" She managed, but the rhetoric only made it so far, as she continued stammering the words. "By- By a group of people, who took out their revenge on me for my father's deeds.." Her voice trembled. She looked around, finding only steely gazes.

"I went to the la-aw enforc'ment." She said, stumbling on the words, shaking in despair. " _Naked!_ And bruised, and yet they would not acknowledge me! My house has been broken into countless times before. I've had rocks thrown at me, and now-!" But something broke in the poor girl, and she was almost brought to her knees.

There was finally some with the nerve to show sympathy instead of annoyance, but the ones on the very outskirts took their chance to sneak away.

One credited female member walked up hastily to the sniveling girl and said "Miss, I am high councillor Ave'ria. I haven't heard anything about this until just now, but now that you have my attention I can assure you, it will be dealt with. Nothing like this will ever happen again" She said with a deeply concerned look.

Sylvanas saw Jaina shake violently, wiping off tears with the back of her hand. "Thank you, but.." She whispered shakily. "I just don't think I can find safety here anymore. I'd rather take my chances elsewhere." she said and threw a cautious look to Sylvanas.

Many angry eyes glared at Sylvanas then, believing she'd manipulated the girl into saying what she had just hinted at.

"Jaina! Jaina. listen to me." Ave'ria said. "I understand you're terribly upset right now, but-" Jaina pushed the high councillor away as she reached out to try and comfort her with her hands.

Jaina took another shallow breath and looked at Sylvanas "My people have forsaken me, Sylvanas. Will you take me in?" That was the first time she'd even called Sylvanas simply by name.

The Banshee Queen's face showed no emotion. "That is a very literal interpretation to our name and cause." Sylvanas said dryly. "We don't just hoard outcasts, and the ones we do.. Well, if it is death you are looking for, that's another matter." She continued.

Jaina focused all her attention on the pale face in front of her, trying to ignore everyone around her to keep herself from stammering any more than she is.

"I am not yet ready to die." She said. "If that had been my intention, I would've done so al-already.." She swallowed "I know that there are living.. among the Forsaken. Ambassador Sunsorrow for one currently lives in Undercity, does he not?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.

Sylvanas made a nod. "And it is your intention to work beside him as an apprentice, I assume?"

Jaina looked down on the luscious marble floor. "Many have already branded me as a forsaken sympathizer based on my duties. Why don't I just take it one step further?" She said.

The councilmember next to Lor'themar now made his appearance again.

"I must inform you that we do _not_ want a Forsaken sympathizer as our ambassador! An ambassador's job is to convey our interests, not condole against us!"

Sylvanas felt the urge to roll her eyes. "For all the _sympathy_ i've shown you in your testing years of recovery?!" She snapped at him.

"Do you want this, Sylvanas?" Lor'themar intervened.

But the councilman wasn't done "So now we're choosing ambassador protegees based on the wishes of half-breeds and advice from the opposition? You sure know your politics, general!" He said venomously.

The gaze Lor'themar pinned him with made even Sylvanas proud.

"Another word and I shall cut out your tongue, you worm!" He growled, watching the pompous cretin stamper away with as much dignity as he could muster.

The fire in his eyes still burned as he awaited Sylvanas response.

"Lor'themar!" Ave'ria cut in, "She should be here with her people! With people who actually care about her!" She insisted

Sylvanas snorted "Judging by the fact that two thirds of the people that were gathered here are long gone, those are empty words, councillor.

Ave'ria looked around herself in shock, and Sylvanas shook her head "I don't know what all the fuss is about, however. I have accepted your embassy. How you manage it and its staff, that is not my decision."

Lor'themar nodded at the truth of this. He looked at Jaina, her eyes red and still shaking, but she was no longer crying. "Undercity is no place for the living." He told her. "If you intend to go there, know that you are entering one of the harshest environments on all of Azeroth." He said, but Jaina looked defiant.

"It's better than being dead." She said.

He did not try to elaborate on that remark. "You shall have your wish then." He declared. "But I want you to know that you are always welcome to return home, and that I would personally take you under my wing if you decide to do so." Sylvanas expected her to accept that offer right away, but Jaina only whispered her gratitude and allowed him to give her a hug. She looked at Sylvanas in his arms and Sylvanas shook her head. Jaina said goodbye, and being who she is, sheepishly apologized for making a scene, something which no one left wanted her to do.

She walked up innocently to Sylvanas and asked "What?"

"You do know you're making a huge mistake right now." Sylvanas stated.

"I think it was you who told me, never to lean on pity." She replied

Sylvanas curled a lip. "I suppose i've said something along those lines." She said, then returned her features to their serene state. "Until we meet again." Sylvanas said in farewell, and started walking away.

Jaina blinked "But I thought-" She tried, but Sylvanas was already going.

Ave'ria was quickly there and put a calming hand on her shoulder. "You will be Sunsorrow's apprentice, first we must make it official and then you may travel through our channels." Jaina still looked disappointed, and the pale haired Ave'ria motioned her to a chair.

"Please, sit down. There are some thing we need to go through." She said, guiding Jaina with her hands, who followed lifelessly. Standing behind the chair, Ave'ria was about to massage her stiff shoulders, when she noticed the purple bruises that covered her skin. She said nothing and instead walked around, took Jaina's hand and kneeled before her. She got no eye contact from the girl, who only stared to her left.

"I don't envy you." She said. "It is a hard life you've chosen, and Sunsorrow is a very strict man, an ancient military veteran. That is why he was made our Forsaken ambassador, very few can survive there." She looked to the side, where Jaina watched Sylvanas frame disappear beyond the stairs. "But expect nothing from that one. Sunsorrow is the hardest man i've ever known, but he will be your saint where you're going."

Jaina didn't think so. _No, she hasn't just toyed with me all this time._ She thought.

 _Could she?_


	5. Chapter 4 - Wind and Water

**Wind and Water**

 _ **l~~~l**_

Jaina looked around her old place. It hadn't been much, but it had been her own. When she first arrived in Silvermoon she had shared residence with others rescued from Kael'thas harem, soon it became clear that she required isolation - for everyone's sake.

The few friends she had gained visited her at first, but when the pressure mounted from various tormentors, such relationships proved hard to maintain. She blamed herself for that. Had she stood up for herself, been less _sorry_ for herself, things might've turned out differently. But she'd been young and scared, only sixteen years of age when her feet first touched Silvermoon. Having spent her whole life in the protective but dangerous clutches of her father, it was an entirely different world. She knew his crimes, but never why they became her own.

The rising sun shone through one of the circular windows of her room. For a blood elf, even one with human lineage, her home was strangely vacant. Not that she had all that much money to spend, but even then, poor blood elves used magic to at least uphold the illusion of prosperity. Her father had tried teaching her magic, but what he'd taught her had only frightened her and he never pushed her.

Back in those days, she used to have mirrors draped all across the walls, and her father had always spoiled her with everything she pointed at. When she was young, she'd loved him for it. It took her years to see her father's madness, and that realization had truly hurt, more than anyone seemed to understand. He'd never once harmed her, except by the end, when he used his fire on her, and everyone else... She shuddered. _He was so far gone_.

So, no mirrors, no l. She no longer wanted to see her own reflection. The burns on the right side of her face were clear as day, but she really thought it could've looked worse than it did. But that's not what others say.. _So you're going off to a place where the people are uglier than yourself?!_ she remembered clearly how one of the many had spat at her just the other day.

Of course, the most hateful people also tends to wield the loudest opinion, and those who sympathize generally do it in silence or when no one else is looking. She'd been told over again not to listen to all the nasty things people have to say. But if the only things spoken aloud about her are bad things, and everyone who think otherwise are too scared to become a victim themselves by doing so, what is she supposed to make of it all?

That's when even the one's who defend her take on an aggressive approach: _Is that what you're doing? Running away from it all?!_ And that might be part of it...

No, _of course_ that's part of it! And she wasn't ashamed for walking away from bullying and much worse... Images flashed of the men who'd assaulted her and she shuddered. She was looking out for her future, as she could see none here. No one respected her, and lately she's gained the insight that her people wasn't worthy of her respect either. She sat down on the bed and put her arms around her midsection as she shivered. She always felt cold, thinking about these kinds of things.

-Her father had been a terrible man, they needn't remind her of that. All they've proven to her is that as a collective, her race was broken, and it doesn't matter how much wealth and power they accumulate... That's what her father had done, enveloped himself in a thick blanket of magical powers and abundant riches and thought he was a a god... something more than the insecure man clutching her to him as he cried himself to sleep, tormented by his own shortcomings and the cruelty of life. He'd called the same name over and over again _Jaina... Jain- Jaina!_ It was a servant that finally broke it down that he was referring to _her_ _._

Jaina picked up the hand mirror she meant to bring to Undercity. She's not fickle, doesn't even enjoy watching her reflection, but that didn't mean she meant to hide from herself. A pair of green eyes looked back at her, a petite face with lightly tanned skin, which if you ignored the scabs on the right was in fact quite cute.

 _I'm twenty one years of age now. Why is cute and fragile still my only trait?_ She wondered how Sylvanas kept her face so perfect, being undead and all.

She sighed and put the mirror down. _Yeah, that sounds like a great icebreaker:_

 _Hey, Sylvanas why are you not ugly?_

But she couldn't deny she was curious. There would be a lot to learn from Sunsorrow about the Forsaken and their abberations. She wasn't so sure where she stood with Sylvanas anymore.

Sunsorrow.. She'd heard too many warnings about him already. Stories about the hard-boiled war hero who lost his leg saving his comrades, coming home only to be met by the sight of his wife lying on the bed with a broken neck. In his state, he'd been helpless, unable to pursue the assailant, even with all his magic. Just like Jaina was now about to, he'd left, or rather _fled_ to Undercity to become their ambassador when it was offered to him, never to see the beauty of life again.

He wouldn't want to see a pretty face ever again. _But hey!_ _Her face isn't all that pretty, so it's fine, eh?_

She bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. They'd do anything to see her cry. _Bastards._

Her stomach rumbled. Ave'ria had been kind enough to bring her a large bowl of delicious fruit yesterday - among other things, but fruit was just about all she had energy for at the moment. Munching on an apple and collecting items, she distracted her thoughts with what had occurred a week ago.

During her years, she'd seen many impressive figures: Baine Bloodhoof of the mighty Tauren, Thrall of the ferocious orcs, even King Varian Wrynn of the unpredictable, but mighty humans. Compared to them, Sylvanas was a lithe thing. Taller than herself, but not by much. And yet, if you'd gather all the racial leaders in one place, she felt certain, any onlooker's eye would immediately be drawn to the Banshee Queen. There was such an ancient power concentrated within her, a determination that projects she'd stop at nothing to get what she wants. She might not be the most impressive physically, but Jaina remembered when Sylvanas had confronted Lor'Themar. Sylvanas had been almost half his size, and yet looking up at him, surrounded by all those people, the worry reflected on everyone's faces was for the Regent Lord. Could Sylvanas take on Lor'Themar? Could she take on all the Councillor mages, the guards, every living being in Silvermoon? Probably not, but at that moment it sure looked like it.

Jaina knew she has probably chosen the worst role model for herself, but if she could tap into just a fraction of Sylvanas being, she believed she could grow immensely from it. Enough to survive. Of course, she might be getting in way over her head with this, but you won't get where you want in life unless you pick a direction.

It will be hard, and she surely might die. But she'd rather be dead than continue living a suppressed life here, always to be looked down upon. You will never grow into anything unless it's expected of you, and Sylvanas had never really looked down on her, only straight ahead for the next objective, trusting her to keep up.

 _And that's what i'm about to do._ She thought, putting another piece of clothing into her backpack. She knew it'd be cold in Undercity, so she'd used the last of her money to purchase the best winter clothing she could afford. She groaned. It was so early in the morning, if only she could duck her head under the pillow a little while longer..

"My Lady?" She heard a voice call formally behind her, and she jumped in surprise.

"Y-yes?" She replied, and hated how unsettled she must sound. When your house has been invaded once, nothing feels safe anymore. She tried to find her bearings and turned around to see the frozen statue of a captain, clad in a long red armor, decorated by golden ornaments and embroidment supposed to represent fire.

"Oh, i'm so sorry! I should've knocked." a young man by the name of Vare'lon said, seeing as she was still in a nightgown. She didn't know him well enough to know whether he'd sneaked up on her deliberately or not. He looked sincere however, behind those sparkling, yellow eyes.

"The men are waiting for you." Vare'lon said after a pause. "We've delayed more than an hour of our regular shift to allow you some rest, but now we really need to move."

 _Oh!_ She felt really bad then, of course they did. Vare'lon had been stationed by her home for protection during the night, to then escort her early the next morning. A favor of Ave'ria, who'd stayed until midnight, and would have stayed longer had she not explicitly told her not to. Jaina hoped to repay her someday.

"I'm so sorry, i'll.. I'll be right out, just a moment!" Jaina said hurriedly, and went to do the last of her packing. She saw him throw her a charming smile, and had she been in such a mood, she'd be flattered for the attention. Every young woman in Silvermoon fawned for his attention, and it wasn't hard to understand why.

"Don't you worry, miss. Make you sure to bring everything you need. I heard the place you're going to isn't exactly hospitable." He quipped, something she hadn't expected. She made a nervous snicker as she put another bed sheet into her inventory.

"You could say that," she said and blushed. Her heart was beating so fast. _Get a grip! Grab your hairbrush, and do something about that hair while you're at it!_

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him notice her flushed face and mechanical movements as she combed her hair. If there was one good thing her father had given her, it was his long, beautiful, pale hair... which right now was a tangled mess!

"I'll be right outside if you need me." He said, and spun around, his long golden hair flowing.

 _Atleast someone took the time to make their hair this morning.._ She thought in annoyance. She quickly looked up, as his back disappeared through the door and made a quick decision. She knew she was being paranoid, but she felt such a strong urge to confirm her suspicions that she on light feet she sneaked after him, past the doorway, out to a blue corridor.

She paused there for a moment, stunned by the images of an enormous, white ocean serpent baring it's fangs at her. Then it closed it's wide maw, showing her two large blue eyes, before playfully twirling in a circle around her, chasing it's tail, squeaking and whistling to get her attention. She blinked. It was just an illusion, but usually her corridor was adorned with grass hills, or the retelling of some historic event. This was ..unusual. She shook her head _I'm such a sleepyhead, letting an illusion distract me_.

She continued walking through the magically enhanced corridor, a swirling ocean that almost made her head spin. At the sound of horses neighing, she quickly hid behind a large doorframe of white wood. Sitting down, she pulled her arms around her legs and listened.

"She should be out in a few minutes." She heard Vare'lon say, and the sound of a pat on the back.

"In and out, huh? I'd expect you to stay and _help,_ captain." Another man said.

"No, no. I was only distracting her." He said.

"The slut!" Another man cut in, "raped by what, five or six men? And now she wants you for breakfast? Hah!"

Jaina cringed violently as the words struck her, like a cold stab to the heart. She found her breathing heavy, too heavily! She chipped for air, feeling panic rise up to meet the wave of dizziness that blurred her vision.

 _That's not even true!_ She screamed in her head at them, holding a hand to her mouth as she was starting to feel sick. Biting back a sob, she tried desperately to not make a sound as she crawled back on the hard, polished floor as quickly as she could, hoping they hadn't noticed her.

 _All I do is keeping my mind occupied to stop myself from reliving that night. And they just stomped on it!_ There was no stopping the tears from flowing now, all they did was anger her further. She heard loud voices behind her, but could no longer hear what was being said. She didn't even notice someone approach for the loud ringing in her ears.

Two firm hands grabbed her waist, and picked her up with surprising ease. She was about to fight with all she had, when a voice said "They didn't hear anything, don't worry." But was it the words, or the voice that stopped her?

She looked up as she was cradled by Vare'lon, carrying her back to her room, arms under her upper back and thighs. Being farther away now, she could cry in earnest. She hid her face behind her shaking hands and arms as best she could.

"I'm so sorry about that." He said. "They've embarrassed both me and my whole command. I can assure you that they will be properly disciplined." He pledged, but she only shook her head in denial.

"No, you won't. You were in on their little prank, weren't you?!"

He stuttered. "No! I would never-"

"Yes! Yes, you were!" She hissed at him, looking up accusingly, regretting it slightly as she saw his pained features. She didn't believe her own words, otherwise she'd never allow him to carry her in the first place. But she was angry, and he just happened to be the closest person to lash out at.

"Did you not hear what I told them?!" He exclaimed. "I said they were effectively discharged, right then and there! I promise you, you won't be seeing them in the cohort when we're off."

"I don't even know how they look." She whined. His arms relaxed somewhat when he heard the tone of her voice, suggesting that she'd stopped berating him personally.

"Do you want to see them go before we leave?" He asked.

 _Is he patronizing me?_ She thought. "No, I don't want to see them at all." She sobbed "And I don't want to see you either!" She added, at which he sighed aloud, he seemed both disappointed and embarrassed, but not at her. He must hold high standards for himself and his company. A rare quality.

"I understand, and I take full responsibility. Let me get you back to your room at the very least. Do you want me to call on Ave'ria?" He asked.

She took a shallow breath and scowled. "No, i'll be fine."

But Vare'ron stayed unrelenting. "She wanted to see you off anyway." He really _was_ trying to be nice to her. She felt like such a baby at this point, and was about to apologize when she noticed the serpent circling them, squeaking sadly now. She looked at it indignantly and said "It would seem I have competition."

"Hm? - Oh."

She pushed at his chest. "Put me down. Being miserable is a solo-venture."

"Uhm, if you say so." He said and eased her down, still holding a hand to her back as he noticed her being a little wobbly. She rubbed her face, and glowered at the imaginary snake.

"It is just looking out for you." He said in its defense.

"It isn't even real!" She retorted.

"Well, if it was, that's what it would do." He said with calm confidence.

"And just what do you know about that?"

He was as patient with her as ever, but he seemed to have noticed the curious tone of her voice, realising she was quickly losing the battle to stay angry.

"I sort of know one." Vare'lon said mysteriously. "They are highly intelligent and react strongly to emotion. That's what's being resembled here." He gestured at the spectacle around them.

She frowned at him. These were extremely rare creatures, only a handful in existence, and constantly migrating. He saw the doubt on her face, and continued.

"The two of us meet at a secret place, at a certain time of the year. Perhaps I could take you there someday."

She looked down, and now it was her turn to look embarrassed. "I'm done making a scene, thank you. You don't need to throw me another bone."

"I'm not trying to." He said, and she wanted to call his bluff, because for what reason would he make such an offer to _her_?

 _Uhh, and i've been such a bitch to him too.._

"You have about five minutes to pack now. Quickly: yes, or no." He said relentlessly.

"I- I don't even know if i'll have the time anymore, you know!" She said, looking flustered. Truthfully, she had no clue how her life might change once she gets to Undercity.

"If you want to, we'll make it happen. Now, yes or no?" He said, crossing his arms, expecting an answer. And that was all she needed.

She rushed at him, and before he could say or do anything, she got up on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his left cheek, before sprinting back the last few steps to her room.

 _ **l~~~l**_

"What makes you think these death knights will be of any use to us? Taking into consideration just how easily they were defeated by the paladins I don't see the benefit of setting up such an arrangement." Varimathras boomed, heavy brows furrowed to further exhibit his doubts. But Varimathras was a pessimist at heart, she never expected any real enthusiasm coming from him. Having someone to bash your ideas on, however, is not a bad thing.

"The death knights were the only ones capable of resisting the paladin's magic! While lesser undead flocked like sheep, they walked right onto holy ground and put up a fight. While not skilled enough to defeat the paladin's rigorous training, that is a problem we can solve with time. But to obtain forces with the means to engage them on any grounds that is a resource worth any costs!" Sylvanas said.

They faced each other in a strange room filled with elven artifacts and human architecture but retaining the gloom of the undead. Sylvanas stood tall and proud in front of the demon's massive form. Varimathras demonic face was pale, covered in black lines, that when he frowned, crinkled so much that it made her think of a dried fruit. His consent always came in defiance, unless the idea was his own to begin with.

"Very well, I trust your judgement." He finally said, but she could see his giant wings flutter with distress.

"Still not convinced?" She said, and his massive chest, donned by a large, majestic armor in black and red, swelled as he took a deep breath.

"We don't broker alliances. Our negotiations with the Argent Dawn has served its purpose, but it's done with and I don't trust them. And I do not trust these death knights. We will look desperate, offering partnership and not complete submission in a case like this." He said.

"Times are changing and we must press on, Varimathras." Sylvanas replied, speaking as if lecturing someone senile. "The last time Light's Hope chapel was attacked, you were there! You remember that carnage. This time they didn't even bother using some sacrificial ritual to wipe out the scourge forces, but with their might alone. There's no doubt we are desperate for new tools in the face of this new threat. Whether we make a move to acquire them or not is of little difference! With the Argent Crusade holding their back, they know the strength of their current position. We can't just outright beat them to submission."

Varimathras made a frustrated noise and began wandering, as was his mantra when he put that big brain of his to use. Sylvanas squinted at him through heavy eyelashes as he continued walking back and forth, awaiting his response. She pondered whether it actually helped him think, or whether it was just to make his next set of words seem more important than they really were.

"From the sound of it, it is this Tirion Fordring whom we should rid ourselves off." He finally said.

She shook her head slowly left and right. "You think too short term. Every decade we see a new set of figures of immeasurable power make their appearance to rock Azeroth off it's axis. Kill one, and another will take it's place. No, we would only compromise our position further."

His large, black eyes seemed to swell. "So now it's your turn to advice inaction?" He countered, and she sneered back at him. _Don't be coy._

"I'd never deliberately brand myself a hypocrite. No, what i'm planning is something far more risky." She said, and he quickly caught on.

"Surely, you jest." He asserted, but clearly the same thought has struck his mind as well. She only continued staring, taunting him with that same unnerving sneer. Many long moments passed as the Nahtrezim and the Dark Lady challenged each other to a battle of wills. Varmathras was the first to break the silence. "It is by far too dangerous." He said.

 _Ain't that the truth.._ She thought.

"Leave _that_ to me. Focus your pretty mind instead on more sensible things." She said, and put a hand to the large map on the wooden table. Dispatch your best Darkstalkers to scout the Worgen lands: see what they're up to and find their points of weakness. With their lack of sophistication it shouldn't be hard. When the time comes, I want a swift and decisive victory."

"The Worgen are on high alert by now." He said.

She almost snorted, for he looked so gloomy. "Did the wolflings give you a hard time while I was away?" She quipped, rewarded by a sideways glance of annoyance. Had she been one of his subjects, he'd surely rip her head off for mocking him. If ever she'd be in the need of describing him in one word, it would be _moody._ For the less fortunate, he's a terrifying harbinger of death.

 _Or, is that how people describe me? So many names I've been given... should I be flattered or simply annoyed?._

"I drowned the pups in the plague river." He grumbled in a low tone. "Perhaps we'll get to meet this Greymane at last."

Sylvanas shook her head "I think not. Greymane is a coward, a weak little man who sends his minions to do the dirty work for him. We should expect a stab in the back, enough to sting, but not enough to draw blood - he'd never be so bold. Reinforce and compress our forces in Silverpine Forest and make sure any assault on the ours is avenged swiftly and without mercy. The apothecaries shall have to afford the additional expenses this will require. Show them who the true master of the dark is."

Varimathras made a satisfied groan."Warm blood will flow." he promised, and Sylvanas gave him a nod of approval.

"Good. But besides pleasure, you will have to take care of some business as well. I need you to make contact with this Darion and his deathknights. Whip them in line."

"Why me?" Varimathras said in a grim voice.

"You will make a strong impression. Like most, they seem impressed by strength. The only other option would be myself, and I don't intend to spoil them needlessly. We did just talk about looking desperate, didn't we? I've put much on your plate beside your regular duties, but these are busy times and right now you should not let me down." She said and gave him a dark glare.

Varimathras stretched to his full height and grunted. "'Tis nothing. For Putrus's foolish endeavour, you needn't lose faith in the rest of us."

Sylvanas slumped into the wooden chair by her desk, resting her head on her right hand. Varimathras thought she looked overly tired, but he knew it wasn't of the physical kind, as that was simply not possible.

"The whole world has awoken, prepared to take Arthas's head. It would seem our goal will soon be accomplished." He answered.

"Yes, it sure seems that way. It should only be a matter of time at this point... It's almost depressing." She closed her eyes. "You know, I've been thinking... death knights, death stalkers, you don't think we could come up with something more... original?" She peeked at him, and actually caught the rare sight of Varimathras curl a lip.

"I don't know, it sure drives in the point, doesn't it?" he replied.

Sylvanas snorted "I suppose you're right."

He made a bow in appreciation and farewell.

"I'm expecting results before nightfall." she called after him, skimming through another report through half closed eyes, dreaming about a time when she could finally find rest.

 ** _l~~~l_**


	6. Chapter 5 - For the people

_**l~~~l**_

 **The Red Shades**

" _Have you not heard what's washed up on our shores?!_ " Garrosh roared, fists clenched in a fit of rage, mad eyes bulging like the veins running across his contorted face.

"All across Azeroth, word has spread of the _Alliance_ liberation army making its stand in the human's shithole of a capital! _Five hundred thousand strong_ , ready to board the ships to Northrend without a moment's notice!" He gasped for air, glaring at each of the assembled Horde leaders and officials accusingly, but was in particular defiance of the Warchief himself who represented his race.

"The Alliance did not hesitate, they took _action!_ Something we should have done long before hunger swept across our lands and the Lich King's minions begun harvesting our young!" In the wide dome of stone and clay his booming voice slammed the gathered to their seats and pinned them onto every word spoken. "What signal do you think we're sending to the world, and to our _people_ by this hesitation?!" He paused, and like the pull of water, anticipating the tidal wave for a calm beach, he drew in a large breath...

"That we are _weak!_ But i've been out on the frontlines ever since I could first swing an axe, and I can assure you that our weakness does _not_ lie in the people. _No!_ It lies in our spineless leaders, too busy talking to serve!"

The half-circle of a hundred wide eyes stared at him like pigeons, confused and distressed while the Horde Leaders awarded him with no such conformity, faces stern and unrelenting.

The thunder of his voice still rung in the great and now silent hall, echoed only by Thrall's hard gaze, fixed on Garrosh's back as the people's hero spun around and disappeared beyond the short corridor while many others found the carpet covered floor, spread out like a sea of blood at the seat of influence.

The air grew heavy, a spell that only intensified with each moment that passed; a thick bubble of tension that suddenly burst by the sharp, chilling noises of the Banshee Queen, insistently drumming her nails on the armrest of her hard-wood chair. A simple, eerie symphony that transformed anxiety into fear, curiosity into dread, focused on the pale, willowy figure in black.

...But before the ruler of the damned could grip the distressed hearts of the gathered, Thrall raised his voice.

"He still has much to learn." The elderly shaman grumbled, shaking his head at what he believed only was a child's tantrum.

Warchief and ruler of the Red Land sat heavily upon his grand throne, leathery features carved in rough lines that criss-crossed his craggy, yet gentle face. A testament to years past that has aged him centuries ahead of his time - a result of trying titles and the burdens that come with them... and on this day he looked particularly grave and old.

The Dark Lady raised her eyebrows in his direction, cocking her head to the exit where Garrosh had just left; indicating that it was time for certain individuals to join the verbal orc's departure. Thrall made a slow nod in agreement and ceremoniously rose from his throne, addressing the crowd of representors from each Horde banner with as much formality as the realm of blood and thunder could muster.

"It is time this summit was concluded," he grumbled. "I must ask each of you, with exception for the racial leaders, to please retire." Courteous but firm, that was Thrall's way.

His request was one that normally would be met by a chorus of objections from the various advisors and officials who disapproved of the main leaders tendency to restrict power for themselves. Being kept in the dark was never a willing choice on their part, but after Garrosh's rattling speech, their hurry to leave was almost uncanny, allowing the guards to usher them forward like children sent to bed.

The dark rangers by Sylvanas side showed no such compliance towards the orders of an orc. They simply stood there, as empty and unrelenting as the trees as, watching the lumbering Taurens, Orcs, Trolls, and Blood Elves make their leave.

Being the single voice of the Forsaken was hardly a coincidence on Sylvanas part. The members of the Royal Apothecary Society always make themselves a nuisance, and this time had been no different. In fact, their demands had particularly feisty this time around, but Sylvanas is not one to let her shackles slack for even a bit. On the whole, she believe her colleagues have grown a bit too soft over these years of relative peace.

The last of the politicians departed and Sylvanas signaled for her minions to do the same.

 **l~~~l**

Now alone, the five of the mightiest lossened their formal bearings significantly. Hardly a band of chum companions, but over these past years they've managed to develop a certain kind of chemistry - even if the brew still bubble and fizzle chaotically at times.

"The dog is nipping at your heels, Thrall!" Sylvanas quipped immediately, throwing the Warchief a lazy glance. "Judged by the frowning faces of your fellow orcs, you've undeniably become a bit of a disappointment next to his barking."

Thrall, never one for outbursts, was as composed and mellow as always in the face of such _intriguing_ observations.

"I mean to do right by my kin, Sylvanas. Not simply gain their favor. _That_ is the duty of a true leader." He lectured, sharing a piece of cheap wisdom he simply _could not_ expect her to pay any heed to. Sylvanas gave a mocking snort.

It didn't surprise her that Garrosh has emerged as the people's choice during the last few years, despite being a stupid brute. The fire that once burned in this old slave was gone. The man with a vision for the future, who forged the Horde into unison with an iron fist, to take them to new heights: dead. Nothing but a shadow remained of what he once was, seeking truces and alliances where strength must be established, making friends with humans and even bowed to their moral code... all the while employing a holier than thou mentality, saying the spirits guides his thoughts as an excuse to whatever critique comes his way. No one cares about the greater good when disaster is at their footstep.

Her sour thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of bones and various trinkets clattering together in sharp claps.

"Gottae throw the big dog a bone, tho', mann." The donned up troll said, lumbering across the round hall, giving each large brazier a toss of some purple powder, retrieved from a small pouch at his side. Every time the mixtures mingled, a tower of flames burst with a lion's roar, to then slumber once more in a more colorful, imaginative dance of substance and imagery. It was a rather intriguing performance in which Sylvanas saw many tales of interest spun within those lavender flames, speaking of what has been, and of what could be.

"It be true wha' he say, tha' any hesitation wi'be marked as weakness, some'ting we cannay affo'd even when we ratha' be home mindin' our littel ones! Da Horde be founded on da fact dat' we be a power ta be feared, dat we be da hunta' 'n not da hunted. Wit'out dat we be nathing, mann." Vol'jin said in his twisted tongue, almost stumbling over his own feet in his intoxicated state, body fueled with mojo and other drugs. There were concerns for his state of mind and ability to lead but in moments such as these, it was hard not to listen to what he had to say.

Sylvanas shrugged. "At this very moment my undead are lining up, eager to set sail along the shores of Lordaeron. The Forsaken wants revenge, and as for the Blood Elves... I've already whipped _them_ in line." She said pointedly to Theron, causing the Regent lord of the Sin'Dorei to whip his long white hair in a wide arc, fixing her with a venomous glare. To even suggest that the Blood Elves were under the Forsaken's thumb was something every one of his representer would fight to the grave - especially when it wasn't that far from the truth in this matter.

Her next set of words was accompanied by a pleased smirk on those rigid lips of hers, setting Theron's eyes afire.

"Any remaining hesitation lie in the Horde factions of Kalimdor. _We_ are ready, awaiting your command. _Warchief_." She finished and leaned back in her chair, returning Theron's glare with an expression that oozed with superiority.

Thrall sighed at the two, engaged in an unrelenting battle of wills, sparks shooting between them.

"I've just about had enough with snarky comments and petty squabbles for one day! Can we conclude this summit without further outbursts?" He retorted, raising his voice dangerously for the first time during this long day.

The blood elf's two glowing embers darted away from the smirking undead's still form, returning to attention like a soldier on salute with a straight back and leathery features rid of emotion. Sylvanas showed no such discipline, almost snickering in delight as she celebrated her pretend-victory with visual splendor, taunting Theron into the more subtle reaction of a furrowed brow.

A heavy snort rumbled across the hall.

Cairne Bloodhoof shook his enormous head in discontent, making it clear that he saw this transaction as nothing more than a childish, foolish oddity.

"The hesitation you speak of is well grounded. " He spoke, meaning to return to the topic at hand and many eyes drew towards the sickly tauren, whose words still made the ground tremble and inherited respect.

Taking no privileges, the mighty Cairne had thinned to the bone, starving himself to reflect the current state of the most unprivileged among his people. A noble cause with roots in tradition, but Sylvanas hoped he'd start using that large head of his and understand that it is simply not feasible that their strongest be weighed down by petty tradition and folly, not for what's to come.

"This war for survival is one that _we_..." Cairne paused and gestured to Thrall and Vol'jin, "are fighting on two fronts: the Lich King on the one hand, and the raging famine on the other. Time only serves to further tip the balance between the ones we can send to war, and those to bring in the harvest." Something between a sigh and a groan escaped his lips.

"The Lich King chose the very hardiest of years to plague the lands of the living once more." The braziers that were spread in a circular pattern around them continued to dance to their own music of crackles and sizzles while exhaustion snagged a pause from the five, all with their own troubles to contemplate.

After some time, Lor'themar's seat creaked in the great hall, calling to him the attention of the others as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"I for one, care not for making a display of power." He said gravely. "It is a luxury we cannot afford, nor have the time for…" He made a sweeping glance, giving each of them a most serious look, hair flowing effortlessly like a curtain for the wind. All aligned with the norm of Blood Elven dramatics. "And yet, when it comes to the Lich King, I'd advise us to overcompensate, rather than do anything... haphazardly." He drew in a quick breath of air. "Would the Lich King be allowed to roam free, the suffering he would inflict upon the people of Azeroth will undermine any degree of starvation we might otherwise suffer. On that you can all be assured. We must act. And we must act now! The people demands it."

His words were controlled and discreet, but by the end it was hard _not_ to discern the silent terror that simmered and bubbled beneath the stone surface of his demeanor. Of the ones who survived the fall of the millions, few had the stomach to share or reflect over even a fraction of what had actually transpired during the neverending slaughter by the end of the third war as even now, the screams still echo through the streets of Silvermoon: traumatized survivors, crazed and broken, occupying the houses of the crazy. Haunted souls that lie strapped to hospital beds, made unconscious by magically infused sleep. Effectively preventing their hoarse shrieks and mindless thrashing, but still require to be awakened once a week, lest be forever paralyzed. Looming over them, their family's unrelenting hope for recovery lives on, going hand in hand with their struggle for survival. A situation where the term 'time is money' becomes a frightening reality.

With the severity of the situation properly reinstated, a sober tone spread. Even Sylvanas darkened in her seat, and most understandably so. If anyone suffered five years ago when the scourge invasion swept across Lordaeron, it surely was the former Ranger-General of Silvermoon. Tortured by Arthas himself for months on end, her tormented soul was clawed out of her ravaged, mutilated body, and she emerged the first Banshee.

"The winds still whisper of your people's pain and suffering, Lord Theron, and will continue to do so for ages to come..." said Thrall with downturned, saddened eyes. "The last time the Lich King drew his cold blade on this world, mother earth was victim to his icy touch. A great tragedy, a mark in history that will never be forgotten. It is my duty as shaman... Indeed, the duty of any sane citizen of this world, to protect it against such a tyrant. History will _not_ repeat itself! This I vow you!" Thrall's words moved with both energy and weight, showing off his ability as a speaker.

"The Alliance have agreed to a combined attack." He continued. "However. We cannot simply send our forces to Northrend, not without sufficient supplies and reinforcements in tow, or all we'd accomplish is sending tens of thousands to starve and die on a deserted island where-"

" _Oh, shut up!"_ Sylvanas snapped, glaring at him with her blood-red eyes. "I've just about had enough wasting my time on this dilly-dallying back and forth. It's time we begun making the tough decisions. This is war, and we're not getting out of it without losing a few precious limbs. If it's any condolences, you should know there will be less mouths to feed, would your armies wither and die on the snowbeds of Icecrown."

Thrall scrambled up from his throne in a fit of anger, having had enough with Sylvanas pointless jabbing. "Do not make light of this situation!"

Vol'jin cackled wickedly. "Ya make it sound as thou' ye people are'nae bothered 'bout hunga', Sylvanas. Da' no' be true!" Vol'jin coyd, snapping his large tusks together.

She flashed him a wicked grin. "Oh, we know hunger; the war between me and the Lich King will be nothing but a feast! Our minions won't resort to anything but to sink sharp, broken teeth into the enemy, gnaw the meat from the bone until there's nothing but bits and pieces left on the ground for the next wave of undead to stomp on. If any of the yours go hungry, there will be entire pools of slodged, rotting meat to scoop up like a bowl of soup!"

Vol'jin was the only one who did not bat an eye at such an engrossing mental image; one of the few to visit Undercity and it's dark depths. He know who the creatures are, roaming the darkness of the grave and what lies beyond the shadows: crawling, moaning nefariously behind your back, the unnatural screams of agony that echo through the tombs of stone and dirt where the dead do not rest.

"I tink ye be referring to a stew, ma-"

A deafening crash shook the earth, accompanied by blaring shouts and roars through the small corridor at the far side of the hall, a sound like dogs fighting for dominance.

"Now, what's all this fuss about?" Sylvanas asked the empty air and with no further warning, the room exploded in a turmoil of grappling bodies, with one particularly large orc to emerge from the midst of the mayhem of smashed tables and crumbled chairs. Throwing yet another Kor'kron guard off his back, Garrosh presented his brutish face to the Horde leaders once more.

"I've had enough of this!" Garrosh roared, smashing in the teeth of yet another fellow orc with his elbow as he rose to full height.

"Thrall! I challenge you to Mak'gora!" He gasped, body heaving with effort. A set of words with such deep roots in tradition that it stopped his pursuers dead in their tracks, hovering just inches from his skin.

Thrall blinked. For a long time now he's been aware of Garrosh's rebellious nature, but this outcome surprised even him by its suddenness. He met the uncertain looks of his Kor'kron guards, and understood that he must deal with this personally and without delay. Holding up a hand for them to stand down, he prepared to do just so.

But that was simply not to be.

"I'm tired of this pup. How about I teach him a lesson?" Sylvanas cut in, throwing Thrall further off balance.

"Stay out of this!" Thrall snapped at her, nerves clearly getting the better of him in his frantic attempt to restore order.

" _No!"_ roared Garrosh. "If we shall go to war with the undead, I might as well start with the bitch queen herself!" He said, fixing her with a gaze filled with confidence and malice. Her mocking snort in response only brought him another few steps away from the fumbling Warchief, and in the Dark Lady's direction.

"I'll put an arrow through your mouth before you've even had time to blink!" She hissed at him, a glint of excitement in her eye. And she wasn't the only one.

The Kor'kron guards had now recovered, gathered in an arc on the one side of the round hall, looking thrilled for what's to come at it's center. Many more streamed in, word spreading fast that something was afoot and with every hard, bloodthirsty gaze in her direction, Sylvanas had no doubts they'd come in the hope to witness her demise.

Quick to emerge from the shadows once more, Vol'jin laughed behind her, clearly amused by all this drama.

"Nah, mann, weapons no' be'llowed in da duel." Said Vol'jin, causing Sylvanas to dismissively turn her back to Garrosh and his flock of admirers. The sneering troll was not her friend, but neither was he her enemy, she's found.

"Hm?" She hummed, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"No weapons, no magic. Tha' is the old way" He replied, shaking his head, causing the many shamanistic trinkets on his person to jingle happily.

"What?" She scoffed, looking terribly disappointed. "But, that's no sport! How's he gonna kill me with his bare hands alone?!"

"Tha' not be my problem, mon, but those a'da rules." Vol'jin shrugged, as if to say he too had hoped for more exciting entertainment this evening.

"Ya got dull traditions, mann." She teased, mimicking his strange way of speaking, oblivious to Garrosh's wavering patience behind her back.

"Quit your jabbering and face me!" He demanded, used to the attention that comes with being wolf amongst sheep. Unbeknownst to him, he's entered the great lion's den.

A hand grabbed her by the right shoulder and roughly twisted her around in a heartbeat, demanding and forceful, but never did she allow her assailant to get a look at her face - not before making sure that he felt the distinct sting of a blade between his legs.

Orc and undead froze in place, knowing either could pounce on the other at a moment's notice. Something the crowd too seemed terribly aware of, holding their breaths as if their lives depended on it.

With Sylvanas only just reaching up to the solar plexus of her opponent with her chin, and barely half his size at that, it might seem a terribly lopsided match to the unknowing spectator. A conclusion that evolved with time as the ominous shadow that surrounded the pale elf grew more and more imminent with every second that passed, peering up at her foe through half-closed slits. No sense of awe was reflected in those red eyes for the statuesque structure of bulging muscles before her, the very picture of orcish pride.

"Shouldn't keep a lady waiting." She prompted with a mischievous sneer and released his precious goods from peril, deftly spinning the sinister-looking blade and threw it behind her back with hardly any care, landing in Vol'jin's palm who neatly tucked it away.

Garrosh never gave into her goading. He only continued to grunt large puffs of air in her face, causing the long black strands of dry hair that twirled down her shoulders to flow behind her long ears. Scowling at her, he showed off tusks, sharp teeth and savagery, enough to propel any sane person into running for dear life. Luckily for her, she was already dead.

She tilted her head in wonder at his surprising patience.

"Elves are quick little rats, always light on their feet and eager to counter." He explained, watching her every move. "I expect nothing less, even from a dead one."

Sylvanas snorted, shaking her head and spared a look towards the amassing crowd of spectators, desperately looking over each other's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the action that was soon to come. It made her hungry, watching them huddle together like cattle for slaughter.

"So, the pup wags it's tail invitingly for his master to play, hmm? Isn't that sweet..." She purred, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But you see..." she brought a cold hand towards his bare chest, slowly. "I'm not going anywhere." Her smile spread as he in a flash snatched her outstretched arm with surprising speed, long before she could even lay a finger on his boiling skin. A gasp went through the crowd as Sylvanas was roughly yanked off the ground, thrashed around and ruthlessly spun by Garrosh, like a kid with a doll. Another crunching grip shot through her other arm, and he held her there cautiously at arm's length, as if he was handling a snake. The glimmer of victory shone in his eyes as her head sagged in defeat, feet dangling lifelessly off the ground.

He opened his massive jaw in a roar, muscles bulging with effort as he pulled on her arms like a rack.

Peering through the black curtains of hair, Sylvanas was given a good view of the many pained and sickening looks produced from the shocked crowd, watching with distaste as her body stretched and distorted violently.

Until the queen of the undead suddenly snapped into three parts.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Garrosh's triumphant roar struck her ears harder than the sensation of parts of her body leaving the main host. She couldn't feel pain, couldn't feel anything at all. But instinctively she sensed her arms give way, to be ultimately ripped from their sockets. With nothing more to keep her above ground, gravity took hold of her once more, bringing her back to the ground where she touched down gently. This time two limbs short.

Garrosh took no further notice of her, and neither did anyone else. Hidden behind bones and muscles she watched him hold the two severed arms high in the air like a pair trophies, striking a pose similar to when Kargath marked the birth of the Shattered Hand. The celebration that met him sure seemed of the same nature, chanting his name like a champion of liberty. After all, he was the one to bring the forces to Northrend, and this was meant to be an omen for continued victories in the campaign against the Scourge.

Beyond the wide wall of hard flesh, she caught the shocked stares of the horde leaders, transfixed on Garrosh's premature victory dance.

 _Are they actually worried about me?_ She thought, lips curling into a wicked grin. A grin that turned into such a fit of screeching, maniacal laughter that it caused Garrosh to jerk violently in surprise. The waves of mind-chilling shrieks reverberated through the hall, screams of terror that rattled the very souls of the gathered, mouths agape, glazed eyes staring in recognition of the Banshee Queen who stood in front of them, giving merit to her name, for the first time revealing her true self.

The skin that once beamed sickly pale in porcelain perfection, contorted into black lines. A demonic face that withered, as every bit of air was drawn from her lungs, and every bit of water squeezed out of every cell in her body. Looking nothing like the pale form of a twisted angel she'd once presented, she transformed into the form of an ancient mummy with glowing red eyes and a gaping mouth like a gateway to the underworld, producing screams no one recognized to be laughter.

" _You freak!_ " Garrosh growled at her, filled with rage and resentment at such a vile creature being allowed into his home. He spared no time for fear or wonder, simply charged at her once again in order to stop her banshee screams to completely consume them. When his fist closed in this time - aimed for her gut - she didn't simply stand there unmoving. A small step to the side was all it took for the mighty blow to gently brush her side, making him grimace in sudden pain.

Pulling back an arm covered in deep, long gashes that dripped with blood, Garrosh grunted in bewilderment, then clenched his teeth in agony as his skewered arm spasmed and spewed out another river of blood onto the already red carpet. He stared in disbelief while his whole body began to shake beyond his control, experiencing pain unlike any he'd felt before. He composed himself as best he could, covering his suffering with pride, and his wounds with his other, healthy arm. Staring at Sylvanas in wonder, he saw her dry form absorb the wet blood covering her. Blood that was not her own.

Protruding from her dead flesh, sharp bones presented themselves dangerously, splayed in patterns all across her body. Garrosh couldn't recall such a sight, having carefully studied her transformation. She seemed to catch his confusion, for on demand he saw her bones move effortlessly, like the legs of a spider.

"The venom will spread, infection will take it's root. I advise you make your next move fast, or find yourself toppled to the ground like a sack of grains!" said Sylvanas, causing the half-circle of people to shuffle nervously.

"Poison is forbidden!" Someone finally mustered, too anxious to raise her voice aloud. Nevertheless, it riled up others to find courage, showering Sylvanas in a chorus of complaints.

Not that she had any care for petty rules, and she was way above honor, but in this she was actually not in wrong.

"I am toxins, disease, and rotting flesh! My very essence is venom to your weak, feeble bodies. I represent no more foul-play in this skirmish of mortals, than the blood of Mannoroth that course through your veins!" She replied to the upset masses.

No retort came her way - and never were they given the chance - for Garrosh was already on the move - looking to win this fight through a feat of strength, not through the means of principle.

Paying no heed to the damage her bones might do to his sorry hide, he slammed her to the ground, straddling her, set on winning this fight through dominant force, no matter the cost. Bringing his huge hands to her throat where only the smallest of bones could be seen, he prepared for one final effort. Squeezing down with all he had, blood oozed through his finger as his palms became a chart of wounds. Breaking necks was his daily bread, and immediately he knew something was wrong as the snake in his hands moved and twisted.

"You know you cannot choke me." she cackled, pressing whatever air she could through her crushed windpipe, eyes rolling with amusement.

" _I will squash your head like a melon!_ " He exploded in her face, to which she opened her mouth wide in a gasp. White smoke escaped her lips, shooting straight for Garrosh's mouth and nostrils.

 _ **l***l**_

The second he inhaled the toxic fumes, Garrosh coughed and sputtered. Through another ragged breath his vision blurred and his thoughts clouded. Only faintly did he register the fact that he was thrown backwards, tumbling to the ground that quivered under his weight. Gasping on his back, he fought to get an ounce of breath into his collapsed lungs, watching the world spin off its axis as he looked up at the dark roof of the great hall with engorged eyes.

Unaware of himself and his surroundings, his body did what it's been trained to do since birth. Survive. On pure reflex, he got up on his own two feet again, even as his body screamed in protest and his chest still burned. Images of horror and death appeared all around him as he urged himself to move onward, reaching for the dark figure at the end of the enclosing tunnel he'd found himself in. The two red suns that shined so bright, swelled to completely fill his field of vision became his only sense of guidance.

With heavy grunts and groans, he took another few wobbly steps, which to him only seemed to bring him farther away from the Banshee Queen, who was quickly slipping away. That's when he felt something like two giant spiders crawl up his legs. He dismissed it as simply another part of the raging hallucinations that surrounded him, looking to confuse him from his true objective. He heard voices, shouts somewhere in the distance, and looked over his shoulder as he stumbled through the darkness. Faces appeared and faded: of friends, of foes. He saw their lips move, but couldn't hear what they said, drowned in the great turmoil of screams and moans.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, hoping to clear his mind. But even his eyelids betrayed him, unable to shield him from the curse that sought to devour him. That's when he recognized that the two spiders had now reached his back, and despite himself felt the urge to investigate. To his horror he saw that crawling up his back was in fact the two arms he'd just severed, moving on their own accord, but a moment before they wrung around his neck, entwining with each other like the entangling roots of a druid.

Feeling them squeeze at his throat, he desperately brought his powerful arms up to rip them off, but they only clamped down harder, secured like a steel collar. He fought to find a grip, tried mangle them to pieces with yanks and nails, but this time he got a taste of Sylvanas strength and resilience. Having grappled with beasts, bent steel with his bare hands, he knew his own strength, and yet there was nothing he could do about the cold skeleton squeezing at his life.

His last surge of strength was adamant, but all that broke was his shredded right arm that fell limp down his side.

"All we need now is a leash." He heard Sylvanas mocking voice above him.

 _ **l~~~l**_

Sylvanas stared down at the struggling orc below her, another opposer laid broken at her feet. But her satisfaction was not to last.

Brows furrowed in concern, she turned to the east where an unknown presence had materialized - and with it many more. An army of such size, going unnoticed for so long… it proved the Lich King hasn't shown his true powers, and still neglect to do so.

Ever since his awakening the Scourge has spread far and wide, coordinating their attacks, posing a threat unlike anything anyone has seen before. There had been attacks in the hundreds, the thousands, even in the tens of thousands during the past few months: slaughtering villages, sacking towns, paralyzing merchants, shepherders and other wayfarers, effectively stopping communication and trade.

It was all very impressive, having so quickly launched his presence on a global scale. And yet, it was all simple guerilla tactics; nothing compared to the true potential the Scourge could muster. Arthas would have no trouble amassing the host of Northrend and sweep any land he so desires. Instead he's reduced himself to a mere roadside pest; giving both ample time and motive for the Horde and the Alliance to regroup and bond together, setting their eyes on Northrend. It was all a great mystery no one seemed to pay any attention to, caught up in the people's cry for vengeance. Even if she'd voice a warning, it would be drowned in the rallying cries that echoed across Azeroth... The warmachine was in full gear, and she knew there was no stopping it now, even if they were walking straight into a trap.

In the meantime, Garrosh screamed out his fury on the ground, unrelenting in his ambition to be free. The blood pumped so hard in his veins that they came out to play, protruding from his flesh much like her bones. With all the strength he had left, he ripped into his own throat to find a grip, and then janked with his left arm. Sylvanas whipped her head around, just in time to see her captive released from her grasp. Without pause he came at her again, drenched in bloodlust.

 _Impressive..._

As much as she'd love to see how far she could push the puny orc, the time for play had passed, with more pressing matters to attend to. She was about to strike the approaching beast when the wind suddenly began to howl. A raging torrent of dense vapor that formed around the both of them, obscured every bit of vision she had of her surroundings. Looking up, she caught the blinding flash of light as it struck the war room, a crack of thunder that sent objects flying, crashing onto the stone walls in a series of hard whacks.

The first thing she saw once the white screen in front of her eyes faded was the sizzling blue tendrils of lightning that burned her flesh. Treacherously beautiful, and yet dangerous beyond compare. She showed no fear, playfully holding her hand up as the strings of electricity played across her fingertips, searing her skin into producing a vile smell. Not that it did her any real harm, few things could as had previously been established. Less could be said about Garrosh, who lay unconscious on the ground, jerking as electricity made it's way through his nerve system.

She threw Thrall an accusing stare, having robbed her of her prize. He gave her a hard look in return which reflected no sympathy, but a personal grudge. Clearly, he was not of the same mind as his brethren on the way of Mak'gora. His protective stance was up, one that took offense on this assault on one of his own.

Sylvanas sighed. She'd counted on tradition to grant her free reign to do what she liked, hoping Thrall to see the easy way out of his little dispute. Of course, Thrall probably didn't even see Garrosh as a rival. He's never paid him any such respect, dismissing Garrosh as simply another unruly youth with ambitions that might one day bloom into something useful.

 _You've grown much too comfortable with your stature as Warchief, you old fool._ Sylvanas thought. Not that she cared for his well-being. She had other objectives in mind.

"The Lich King is here! We must abort." Thrall announced, but that was just a lame excuse which did not satisfy her in the slightest, even if it fooled most of the crowd. Judged by the small but significant number of scowls in his direction, his decision to interrupt would be another thorn in his side.

Reports were already streaming in regarding the scourge forces that had already reached the gates. She threw her victim another glance, but realized her show was already over.

In a slow and methodical manner, the two severed arms climbed up her thighs, gripping onto the protruding bones of her ribcage with bony fingers, and spun around, attaching their respective ends to her shoulder joints and snapped in place. While flesh joined with flesh, the rest of her skeletal structure retracted. Ripples went through her body as she returned to her previous, slightly less perilous form. The only change to before was the splatters of blood that covered her figure, clad in black and pale skin. A simple shell to cover what lay beneath.

Her eyes found the Warchief, the center of activity in the great turmoil and confusion that comes with a siege. It was truly a scandal for the orcish defenders, to be taken off-guard in such a way. It raised many questions on Orgrimmar's line of defense, something which their guests now took great liberty on, raising cries of outrage on this breach of security on their person.

 _Fear is such a pathetic thing..._

She winked to her fellow dark rangers to bring her things, but let her bow and arrow be for now. As of yet, she had no intent to take part in the general festivities, and neither did the other Horde Leaders, who too stood idly on the sidelines, knowing their 'help' would only bring further confusion down the ranks. From the sound of it, Thrall was already finding control of the situation, concluding his quick session with generals and commanders, discharging defense-plans that had already been prepared and refined years in advance, while also attempting to calm the many troubled souls around him.

With her dead ears that still held some elven heritage, Sylvanas heard the sounds of running feet, of horns booming, of troops finding their posts. She could only imagine the chaos that most ensue outside the hall.

"I hear the sound of history repeating itself." She said, casually walking up beside Lor'themar whose expression darkened at the reminder.

"It's about time we made sure of otherwise." He said harshly, and left her with a couple of long strides, waving his farstriders to him.

She shook her head. "He'll warm up to me, yet."

"Wit' fire an' brimstone, perhaps!" Vol'jin cackled, and she laughed with him, but their amusement quickly died down…

"Ya display back dere hardly made ye any favors." Vol'jin said, peering at her from the side. The red devil of the Darkspear trolls possessed tusks nearly the length of a human's arm, a hindrance when talking face to face, as opposed to Cairne who actually had the decency to shave off his horns.

Sylvanas shrugged. "You can't always be lucky. There's tough meat in that one, he'd make a good minion even if he's a dumb dog." She said coolly, but Vol'jin wasn't fooled by her act, peering at her suspiciously. His eyes strayed to the circle of shamans and druids at the other side of the great hall, busily caring for Garrosh's recovery. He returned his gaze with a look of distaste.

"His death wou'be granted to ya. No' his body, no' his soul. Tha' is for da ancestors ta take care o'! But ye kno' all dis already, wha'ye tryin' ta'ccomplish?" He said and she curled a lip, daring him to go any further when a large shadow suddenly fell over the two.

" _Is it your intention to continue this idle conversation while these valiant defenders protect our backs?!_ " Cairn rumbled behind them with barely pent up anger.

"Why, you too afraid to go alone?" Sylvanas quipped and spun around, only to see the tauren's back disappear beyond the tumult of orcs running circles around each other as they sought their respective destinations. Sylvanas sighed and put her arms on her hips, watching the tauren tower over each and every one of them, stomping forward as if wading through water.

"Well, that was easy. What about you? Care to give me some space as well, or do you intend to keep dogging me?" She said, never even taking the time to appreciate the work of art that was Vol'jin's poker face.

"Wha'ya mean, mon?" He said, and in the raging cacophony of voices and running feet that echoed in the large dome, his voice almost drowned into nothing.

"Don't play games with me." Sylvanas said harshly. "Thrall ordered you to keep an eye on me, didn't he? Your hounding is hardly subtle, and your spies are no less inconspicuous." Her accusation had a hard ring to it, but it was done in a manner that was calm and factual.

"I know not what you speak of-" said Vol'jin, insistent on his innocence. It was an approach that deeply disappointed her.

"Return me my knife!" She snapped at him.

 _If he means to play me a fool he'll regret it._ She thought, and her sudden change in demeanor caught Vol'jin off guard, making him hesitate.

"If you want to do this the hard way, so be it. Now hand it over." She demanded and put her hand out. The very second Vol'jin retrieved the blade with three long fingers that were large enough to envelop her whole head, she darted forward and snatched it from his grasp, throwing something on the ground and speared it through with the knife at the same time.

" _There!_ " She exclaimed. "There's just one of your little birds that were caught in my net, and if you need more, I'll supply you until you stop lying to my face!" The impaled troll's ear that smeared the carpet in a deeper red made Vol'jin's eyes lit up in anger as he traced its origin.

"Ye be mad if ye t'ink i'll stand for this!" He spat in her face, but the undead queen never wavered, only continued staring at him with open defiance.

"Eye for an eye, ear for an ear. You don't trespass on my domain without permission and not pay the price." Her mad gaze bore into the leader of the darkspear trolls who seethed and boiled, with no outlet for his rage. He knew his hands were firmly tied.

"You hate it, don't you?" She said, looking smug. "The respect you must give me, the endless tip-toeing around my every move. _I_ am the jailer of the damned and the mortal races need me to keep the chains tight for the sake of their peace and well being."

Vol'jin crept forward with knees bent, ambling forward like a gorilla and put his fist down at her feet. Shoving his white-painted face in front of hers, they looked like two skulls ready for battle. A few worried glances came their way when the jungle troll gave her a sniff, almost poking her in the eye with one of his tusks, but then puffed with a face of disgust and just as quickly circled around her like a serpent looking to ensnare its prey. "Ye stinkin' sewer rat! Wipin' out da Forsaken wou'be cost some, but prove ya'self a menace 'n we will." The troll growled in her ear, resting a tusk on her right shoulder in a threatening fashion. Around them, no one was able to hear what was being said, but the tension was undeniable, and Vol'jin rewarded anyone who took the time to ogle them a dangerous look.

She tilted her head backwards to look at him wickedly. "Oh, i'd need to be _really_ naughty to bring you all down on me!" She said and leaned into him, causing the troll to recoil and take a few steps backwards. She snickered, and turned around. "But even if you would decide to plow through Tirisfal Glades, tear down Undercity one brick at a time, you know perfectly well it wouldn't end there. The feral scourge still prevail five years after their birth, and it's not for your lack of trying! I could throw myself down the dead scar and place Azeroth in a state of unrest and chaos for generations to come. But what now stirs fear in the living is what a king and queen could accomplish together. That's why you feel so inclined to lurk in my shadow."

"Cha'tka zuni! Arrogance and dumb headed folly is what your are! You'd never side with that miscreant!" Vol'jin said with conviction. Still not confirming anything, but it was clear how they were suspicious of her activities.

"There is no future for me and my people among those who sees us as nothing but _temporary_ , a pest to get rid off when the is right. Why would I _not_ side with my own?!"

"Your own? Pahh! I saw your face when Lor'themar had his trip down memory lane. You'll never forgive him for the sins he committed towards you, nor your former people."

Sylvanas felt like hissing at him and do something she shouldn't. She's heard those exact same words in a million different ways before and it always angered her.

"It's really convenient, isn't it? Having it both ways. I'm a monster on the one hand, but as soon as there's a question of what i'm capable of, suddenly I embody the ranger general of Silvermoon again, with all her merits of honor, loyalty and decency. You do realise it's all nothing but hope people cling on to when they ask for my mercy?"

Vol'jin stared at her silently with studying eyes. "It is hope that you too cling on to with everything you've got." He finally said after some time, and Sylvanas blinked, widening her eyes ever so slightly, and they both knew he'd hit the mark.

"You're good!" She said with a sneer and the tension dropped significantly.

"Wha's the truth then, mon?" Vol'jin asked.

"Arthas is nothing but a slave to the Burning Legion, but I _will_ leave the Horde if this insolent behavior continues."

"One could say ya reap what ya sow, mon. But I agree, we should seize these activities and work togetha', not grow paranoid." Vol'jin agreed and took a deep breath.

"But tha' was not my question. If ye'r not the same Sylvanas, who ye be?"

"I'm her shadow. Whatever I once was, I've hardly any memories of it. All I can do is piece together the stories I hear, the things people say. And while I feel a certain connection to some of it, undeath is not some rebirth with a drop in temperature and horrid skin problems. Sylvanas is _dead_ and all that remains are whispered expectations on what this body still resemble of her." She said.

"And yet they say that somewhere inside, the old Sylvanas still remain."

"That underneath all of this hides a heart of gold?" She replied, gesturing at herself, smiled and shook her head. "Oh, that would make a very good story, wouldn't it? Very romantic and bittersweet."

"Indeed." Vol'jin agreed.

"I must admit that I feel the urge to entertain that story, more often than I should. But I have my own agenda, a will of my own and duties to fulfill. I'm not distracted or controlled by anyone, not even my former self."

They sat in silence for some time, following the progress of the Scourge's advancement. What gates were breached, the numbers, the different kinds of creatures that posed their own sets of difficulties. She knew Vol'jin held Thrall in high regard, and chose her next set of words carefully. "Thrall has been a good warchief. He's proven his worth time and again, but if we are to make it, we need him to bring out the battlehammer and start whacking heads again." She said, and wasn't talking about Scourge. Vol'jin grunted in agreement.

"Ya don't need ta sugarcoat it for me, mon. I kno' what ya be referrin' ta!" Vol'jin let out a tired sight. "He steered away from _that_ path years ago, having embraced da spirits call. He be a shaman now, mon, goin' unda da name Go'el. He won't do what we want him ta do, and even if he did, he'd be no leader then, ehh?"

Sylvanas shook her head with a tired look on her face. "And Cairn is too old…" She spared him a glance. "That leaves only you."

"Pahh!" His eyes bulged when he caught her meaning and broke down laughing, folding his hands around his stomach and tumbled to the floor. "Don' joke like dat! It be bad for ma tummy!" He roared, smacking a large fist on the floor.

" _Someone_ needs to clean up this mess!" She insisted, staring down at the laughing figure below who was rewarded with many perplexed looks from the surrounding orcs, who felt affronted at such behavior in the midst of battle.

"Wha' 'bout ya' booty on de throne, hmm?" Vol'jin said, still not bothering to get up, folding an arm across his face to cover his eyes. "Ye certainly seemed inclined to give Garrosh a proper spanking, just naw! Meby the hovering responsabilities of a Warchief can whip ya into something productive fo'a change and not just spend ya time vexin' ya fellow colleagues."

She rewarded him with a snort and sat down next to him, elbows on knees. "Now you're the one making bad jokes. Even if i'd feel the urge to torture myself with another throne, not even the Blood Elves would support my rule." She said and Vol'jin bowed his head up and down.

"Ya ya, dat be Tru'! Then I suppose we've no choice but to go wit' our sizzling chap over der." He said and flung an arm towards Garrosh who was still unconscious. He caught her horrified gaze with his right eye and cackled.

"It doesn't need to be permanent, mon! We let Garrosh spur things up, throw him in da right direction and let him da the job fo' us. Everybody be happy, especially da orcs who itch for da war hero wit' big 'n shiny muscles!"

Sylvanas raised a pale eyebrow, looking for whatever sanity was left in the lunatic next to her who still lay flat on the ground. "You want a puppet for a warchief?! That's the worst idea i've heard from you yet." She said and watched Vol'jin get up to a sitting position.

"These be tough times, mann! We hath ta make do."

Sylvanas tsked and bared her teeth in annoyance. "That's what i've been doing for the past five years! I'm sick of it." She made an undead equivalent of a frustrated grunt and gave him a nod. "We'll talk more on this another time. I'll send your gang of trolls back by the morn, a little worse for wear but they still function. Don't expect a second warning."

"Ya generosity is beyon' compare!" He announced ironically and she rolled her eyes, about stand up and make her leave when he grabbed her by the arm.

"One last 'ting. What is the Lich King up to?" He said, almost in a whisper.

"Hm?" She raised an eyebrow in question and stared at the hand clutching her left arm, meaning for him to let go. He didn't, only leaned in closer.

"Ya never caught all ma spies, mon." He growled nefariously. "Ma eyes 'n ears reach the far corners of the world. I heard the Red Shades set sail, and I kno' the direction dey be headed."

Sylvanas turned and leaned in, grabbing Vol'jin's wrist with her free arm and dug her nails into his skin. "I've spilled my guts more than enough already. _Let go of me, or I'll start ripping and tearing_!" She rasped, red eyes hungering for blood.

" _Ah_ , ya need me ta warm up yer tongue, ehh? How'bout I unveil some secrets ya don't wanta be revealed, hmm?"`He said, but she was not intimidated.

"Hit me." She called, a dare that made Vol'jin look like a kid with his hand inside the cookie jar.

" _Mmm_ … lemme tsee now… Ahh, yes! Wha'ya be hidin' unda'neath de blood elves domain, hmm? Dose be dangerous stuff!" He said.

Sylvanas brows rose high, staring at Vol'jin with sudden dread. If there was one secret she'd guarded close to her heart, it was that one. She peered at him suspiciously and spoke without thinking.

"I need your help." She saw Vol'jin caught her anxiety with a knowing smile and returned it with a blatant stare as he released her arm.

"Wha's it about, mon?"

 _ **l~~~l**_


	7. Chapter 6 - Periphery

**Periphery**

As if torn on its evolutionary path, the troll like all of its kind stood with a hunched back, long arms reaching for the ground: undecided whether to walk upright or remain on all fours. It was a giant of a creature: a framework of bulging muscles, sinews and bones. A savage in the eyes of many, but not a mindless beast. The tanned animal hides, crafted trinkets of skulls and talons draped across its large frame certainly was of the barbaric kind, but was proof of a certain level of cultural heritage and intelligence.

There was an east wind blowing, howling in the troll's ears, greedily devouring each misty breath released from its - _his_ trembling lungs - for the creature was distinctly male. A single point of heat in this frozen dimension. He had no time to spare, and so his decision to crouch down in the ocean of snow was not for a moment's rest or some sort of death-wish.

His nails cut through the outer shell of crystallized snow and with his palm scooped up the soft contents below and raised it for his peering eyes to study. He watched as the pillow of fluffy white melted into a transparent liquid and like a fountain seep between his two fingers and thumb, dripping from the back of his hand to be swept away into the howling wind and be made ice once more. In the end, all seemed the usual with this essential substance of life and he was about to dismiss the whole thing as a bad case of paranoia... but just then he saw something peculiar. A shadow swirled through the trickles of water and he leaned in closer to see it wrap around his hand and-

" _Pah!_ " the troll cried out. Agony surged through his arm as if glowing embers crawled through his veins. Spurred into action, his body took charge, thrashing and waving in order to remove the ball of white and its vicious contents. Snow flew in all directions, exposing an anomaly of slimy black goo, clasped against his flesh like a rabid dog.

As a warrior of merit he had the discipline to calm himself through the rush of adrenaline and pain, and with swift, controlled movements stuck his other hand into a small pouch on his side and with a flicker produced a cloud of fine powder to envelop his inflicted hand. The reaction was instantaneous. The mixtures of black and purple fused, bursted into bubbles like sea foam across his skin.

Pain was an old friend of his, demonstrated by the many scars that could be traced across his whole body. But this poison, whatever this _thing_ was that now slipped from his hand onto the ground in a gooey mess was something else entirely.

The troll mustered a calming breath and produced a vial to scoop the contents for later studies. His hand still burned, but as of this moment there was a more daunting problem to occupy his mind and this terrible apparition of nature was but one piece of the puzzle to confirm that something was terribly awry. He called out to the spirits for guidance, begging for clarity on how they could abandon this desolate place. But no answer came. Not even a whisper has reached his ears during the past few days and their absence worried him deeply.

" _Dis be bad, dis be very bad, mon!_ " the troll called out in his wicked tongue and the raging blizzard was quick to shoot snowflakes into his open mouth for each word he spoke.  
" _You've been saying that for some time now._ " a cold voice rasped in tailwind and the troll raised his great tusks. At the top of the hill, swept in a blanket of snow, a dark figure stood tall and proud with flowing strands of hair dancing like a pennant in the wind, blending into the pale background of alps and frozen fjords.

The troll overcame the fatigue that's crawled up on him during past four days of travel and with a heavy sigh mustered another ounce of energy into his burning legs. He pulled the furs of a bear closer to his large frame, held back an involuntary shudder and wandered on. Flaming red hair bowed before the wind, stiff and infused with frost. A thick layer of white tar was smeared all over his skin to protect him from the worst of the chill's numbing effects. Combined, it made him look like a rather bulky skeleton in furs, with a real fashionable hairdo... not that keeping up appearances was of any concern at this time.

His eyes grew closer to slits as he pushed through the tortuous blizzard, felt each snowflake like grains thrown in his face as he closed in on a creature who seemed much too slight and badly clothed for this kind of harsh weather. But the truth was the complete opposite.

Into the distant horizon, the dead eyes of a corpse stared longingly, as still and eternal as the rocks of the earth. It was an eerie sight to bear witness, the nemesis of all living things, the harbinger of death and decay at the heart of this no-man's land. Any sane man or woman would run screaming in terror, but this troll was not of the ordinary kind either...

 _ **l~~~l**_

She seemed at home, Vol'jin, chieftain of the Darkspear tribe thought as he took in the countenance of her ethereal guise from the side. There wasn't a doubt in his mind on how she yearned to find her way into the heart of this land of the dead, past the mountain ridges to the east and murder the king atop his throne.

The troll lumbered up behind her and brushed a jagged left shoulder, effectively awakening her from trance.

"Rememba' wat we be here for, Sylvanas!" Vol'jin said and without hesitation, Sylvanas snapped her head in his direction.

 _Oh, how those pupil-less, blazing red eyes of hellfire hunger for blood. Neither of us were made to rule. Imagine the fun we could have, released of our shackles!_

" _Coy, aren't you?_ " a guttural voice replied. Her lips, pale and vicious, parted to bare for him the jagged teeth of a shark to completely destroy the pristine ulterior of her artificially pale skin - if demonic eyes and a mummified anatomy wasn't enough of a give-away. Vol'jin felt his skin prickle in her very presence, standing shoulder to shoulder in the cold.

"Don't get ahead o' yaself, dat is all." he said and blinked at another mass of snowflakes stuck on his eyelids. Sylvanas gave no reply, only returned to stare out into the distance. Vol'jin could never quite anticipate what her response might be. There was always a certain tension in the air when she's around, like the calm before the storm.

This queen of the Forsaken was an old and otherworldly being. _Yes_ , if one was superficial enough, and didn't look too closely, one could still make out the highly regarded elven beauty of her past in those hard lines of a deathly pale complexion. But the second those guttural noises of hers escaped through the depths of thrashed internals and a mangled throat, you knew it was nothing but a farce.

Beneath the constructed mask of eerie perfection lay the ripples of a death-infused mechanism, evoked from the darkest pits of the underworld: a malignant spirit of bare bones and rotting flesh, of cavities and wounds. It was a reality you could not see in her current state. A slender shape, dressed in an armor of hardened blood, so dry and perverted by black arts that it made for her the dense, scaly, blotched texture of dragonscale in a mix of crimson and obsidian, showered in snow.

But Vol'jin has seen the true evil that this meticulously refined coagulation shelters... and that one horrible glimpse still haunts his dreams.

 _Arthas… He sure deserve all that's coming for him._

"It's rude to stare, you know?"

Vol'jin blinked, returned from his brooding thoughts. "Is it my duty to teach a troll some manners on this trip as well?" She continued, her usual bitter self.

Vol'jin gritted teeth at her audacity, averting his attention to what was in front of them.

"Don't be so cocky, mon. Is it really such a mystery dat Thrall wants me ta keep an eye on ya when yer so inclined to get yaself killed?" Vol'jin kept his voice calm and reasonable, but a certain undeniable edge crept into his words.

Vol'jin felt something cold slither around his right shoulder up to his exposed neck.

"Oh, my dear shadow!" A voice rasped into his ear and Vol'jin's head snapped to the side and saw her standing there, uncomfortably close. Hnd coiled away from her necrotic touch and they faced each other, the troll maintaining the distance while the undead presented him a wintry smile. "I sure am flattered for your concern on my well being. Isn't this a day for awe and celebration? A troll, expressing his concerns for a high elf? A dead one nonetheless!" Sylvanas raised her arms to the heavens. "Well, don't the stars weep for such an unlikely union!"

Vol'jin shook his head and swore softly under his breath. "Have it nevva occurred to ya we belong on da same side, hmm?"

"Side?" Sylvanas tilted her head slightly in question and her hair followed, thrown to the wind to bare a long right ear. Shaped much like his own, it reminded him of the ancient lineage between the high elves and his own people.

 _How the times have changed and we with them. Almost nothing remains the same._

"What side are you referring to exactly?" She asked, as if he'd just presented her with a riddle and Vol'jin felt something just snap.

" _Aka kaz'ulfi!_ Dis snarky, uncooperative behavior has become somethin' of a cliché o' yours, hasn't it?! Is dis really all Sylvanas Windrunner da immortal has ta offer?" he growled and for every word he spoke, her sly grin pulled a little wider.

"Immortal?" She cooed, the words rolling off her vile tongue like honey.

"After yer fight wit' Garrosh, dat be da name spoken on admirer's lips all across Kalimdor, mon." said Vol'jin.

"Mm, yes. Something of the sort has reached my ears. Your people just love the clichés and the drama, don't they?" said Sylvanas. "So, tell me Vol'jin. Why should I disappoint? As you well know I keep my time among the living brief and to the point. There's simply no reason to complicate things for the masses."

"Then how are one ta interpret ye bringin' da people's beloved war hero pitifully down on his knees?! Is dat givin' da people what they want?"

Sylvanas tssked. "I never claimed to be a crowd pleaser. In regards to that most unfortunate, however, I must ask: am _I_ really to blame?" She paused for a sharp intake of breath. "Me and Garrosh was having such a lovely time until… Thrall interfered. Had it not been for him, that brute would be dead, fair and square. But no, our dear warchief simply had to poke a finger into the game and now Garrosh hates his guts for having saved his life and in the same manner the people loathes knowing the warchief doesn't respects tradition." She shook her head. "That poor old fool."

" _It be true…_ " Vol'jin grumbled and watched the surprise on Sylvanas face as he rose to full height, looming over her like a malicious spirit. "dat Thrall got ahead o' himself, but da very reason Garrosh stormed in lookin' for blood in da first place was because a few well-placed birds whispered some very clever lies into his ears. In da end it was a plan, and a trap, orchestrated by you, knowing perfectly well how Thrall would react under da right circumstances."

His eyes burned, but Sylvanas brief look of surprise was long gone. Her face was blank, somber, but he supposed that was all he would get from this heartless monster. But he wasn't going to back down. People thought him sly and cunning, just like Sylvanas. Compared to her though, he held on to certain principles.

"You've put yer knife in Thrall's back 'n significantly shortened his time as Warchief. Da damage has been done, but hear me when I say dis: from now on _leave him alone_. Thrall has served da Horde faithfully. He is widely respected and a close friend. He always sees da best in people, and sometimes dat be his downfall. But I, I not be all dat he is _and_ _ya betta not mess wit' me! I will rain down on ya like blazin' hellfire!_ "

They were now so close that their foreheads almost touched .

"Careful now, Vol'jin." She said broodingly. "You're treading dangerous waters. Such wild allegations could get you killed."

" _I'll break you-_ "

"I've heard you loud and clear, Vol'jin." She said, holding up a hand for silence and turned away from him. "There's no need to make such a fuss about this, it really won't do you any favors. My business with Thrall is done and that's the end of it. We're already on the same page." She spoke, deathly pale features in profile, calm and collected like always.

 _ **l~~~l**_

A long silence followed, then Sylvanas proclaimed broodingly.

"This is where they set camp."

Vol'jin snorted. "Back ta business is it?"

"Always. We've wasted enough time."

Vol'jin sighed, but he wasn't going to let it get the better of him. "Very well." He said and observed the area beyond, this time with a new focus now that he knew what he was looking for. He tried to see what it was she was seeing, but all was snow. A great blinding nothingness. Certainly nothing to suggest that a band of missing soldiers has passed through this barren, untouched landscape since ancient times. It sure was a sight to behold.

Sylvanas must've caught his bewildered expression, for she shrugged and said.

"What'd you expect? The traces of a campfire? Crumbled tents, perhaps the outlines of carts and cattle? _Please_ , you've more sense than that! As compared to the living, we undead travel _light,_ and move as such _._ "

 _True that._ Vol'jin thought and made a nod in acknowledgement. Just like a spider, she herself was light and deadly, having left not a single footprint for him to follow during the past few days. He himself was a hunter at the top of his game, and it was thus a most flustering experience, following a ghost.

 _Whatever teachings of her elven heritage she's abandoned, stealth is not one of them. The Forsaken rangers and stalkers are famed for moving undetected across the lands like the shadows at dawn... and, as opposed to the Scourge, somehow without a trace of lingering smell. The work of her infamous apothecaries, no doubt._

"Makes one wonda how dey got caught in da first place."

"That's what we're here to find out. We'll do best to tread carefully."

Vol'jin frowned in bewilderment."But, are ye sure dis is da place? Ta bring down Nathanos 'n his deathstalkers... I be expectin' some evidence ta support da level o' mayhem 'n destruction such a feat deserves. Lightfooted or no."

Sylvanas stood just a little taller, pleased with his praise of her right hand man. "The Lich King is hardly known as one proned to clean up his own mess. But yes, I am sure. Secondly what was the reason for setting camp in the first place? Nathanos wouldn't stop halfway to his destination unless he had a very good reason."

Vol'jin was about to elaborate when a strong tremor coursed through his wrist and with a groan he whipped his head to the side to see his hand visibly shiver. Something was wrong.

From the corner of his eye he saw Sylvanas turn toward him and clenched his fist until knuckles whitened. He didn't intend to fuss over something that was probably just the sign of old age.

"What's the matter?" She asked and Vol'jin shrugged, giving her an oblivious look as if to say he'd not a clue what she was referring to. She raised an eyebrow, hardly convinced by this brief display of theatre, but found no reason to press him for an answer.

"We should scour the area." She declared, returning to the matter at hand. "Come on." She said and motioned Vol'jin to follow suit.

He gave his arm another disconcerting glare before putting one giant snow-shoe in front of the other. He felt like an elephant, stomping away through the deep snow, glaring at the nimble figure ahead who skidded gracefully across the snow's hardened surface like a featherlight ermine.

 _ **l~~~l**_

With her bare hands she clawed her way through the deep-snow, until at last she found it.

A rock like any other, small enough to fit in her hand and yet... she flipped it over and found the marks she'd been looking for. Etched with great haste and a sense of urgency, a criss-cross pattern ran across to reveal a message as surprising as it was alarming.

 _Traitors? But who Nathanos? Who?!_

There was a _very_ short list of people with information to actually treason with. She'd been careful to make sure that was the case.

" _Sylvanas!_ " she heard the voice of one on that list call out, one who'd gathered his information through the means of infiltration and not trust. She rose and with a mere thought, the stone withered into fine dust in her hand and was carried by the winds to mingle with the snowflakes that raced towards the ground.

The harsh conditions filled her with desire. She longed to feel the cold and the pain, anything but this numb, empty reality that seemed to slip from her grasp with every passing day. Without the ability to feel or touch, the world has becomes to her a separate entity, disconnected from what remained of her withering consciousness. It's driven her mad as time went by, the world shrinking under a great haze. She was drowning and eventually she would fade, most probably without even noticing it... there was but one thing in this world to keep her above the surface, keeping her from being just another brain dead zombie and a tool for the Legion...

She moved swiftly towards the large troll who stroke a feral pose in the snow, hovering just above something, hands on knees. The pile by his side and the destructive energies emanating from this leader of the Shadowspears clearly suggested he'd dug up something noteworthy. She peered curiously around his broad back, covered in coarse fur and snow, and was met by a face. A troll's face.

In fact, it was just a head, held up just below its long ears by Vol'jin's two hands which shook with rage. Sylvanas only needed a glance to measure it a little more than a week old.

Well preserved in the freezing snow, it was an ashen sculpture with trickles of ice running across its agonised features. A thin kind of face with deep lines, distinctly male but not a burly thing by any means. The right side of its face was mangled and bruised, cheek reduced to scraps, torn to reveal the remains of smashed teeth and gums. Two large bronze rings still stretched the troll-head's earlobes in a big O, like the silent scream of its distorted lips.

" _He will pay for dis!_ " Vol'jin roared, the veins of his neck coming out to play, filthy canines bared between his large tusks.

"Friend of yours?" She asked, but of course he needn't answer that. He was plenty upset to tell her everything she needs. Still, it was rather suspicious.

Nathanos writing came back to her again: _traitors_. But the troll's reaction sure seemed genuine enough. Then again, what did she know about reading the countenance of trolls? They were a cunning lot, Vol'jin in particular, and thus she'd never expected him to be so incredibly stupid as to actually awak-

" _SYLVANAS!_ "

Sprung into action, the skull's jaw rattled in his hands and white eyes flew open. Vol'jin jerked violently in surprise at the movement, coupled with a sudden ear-splitting roar. What remained of his friend slipped from his hands and flipped backwards in the air to crash face-first into the snowbed with a dense thud, firmly buried.

 _Such a heavy weight on one's neck so rarely put to use._ Sylvanas thought, watching a stunned Vol'jin, face a mask of disbelief and shock.

Vol'jin clenched his now empty hands and slowly turned to give her a wide-eyed stare, probably wondering whether he'd gone mad and just imagined the whole thing. Taking into consideration the amount of drugs he regularly pumped his body with, it was in his case not a completely irrational thought. She assured him, he had not.

"Are ye tellin' me he's been..." Vol'jin looked back to his fellow troll's remains, lost for words.

Sylvanas said nothing. He was no fool and soon came to terms with reality.

"But how dat be possible?!"

 _Or not..._

"It's just a head and it- it spoke! Even ye can't speak wit'out appropriate… ya know!" He made a gesture from his throat down his chest, as if further explanation was in need.

"Remember who's the expert here, but thank you for the imagery. It is a temporary solution, an utter waste of effort and energy, but very much achievable. When it comes to the undead there are ways for everything." She strode forward purposely, haunted by the squeaking noises of snow beneath her feet and before Vol'jin had the time to stop her, she rammed her foot against its temple.

The head went rolling across the snow like a tumbleweed, leapt and bound, until finally coming to rest a few meters away. Facing the skies, it cackled wickedly, spitting teeth and bile as it cried out about the terrible ringing in its ears.

"Stop whining! What is your purpose, cretin?!" She snarled.

" _Grrrll! The master has… kah! been expecting you._ " it croaked, straining its eyes to find her. She never gave it the privilege, only threw the abomination a bored glance.

" _I bid ya welcome to Northrend, Queen Sylvanas. Looking for Nathanos, are ye? He is bein' very well taken care of, I can assure ye. Patiently awaiting his queen, yes, yes! Given in to da demands, ye have?_ " It was clear by the way its tongue and jaw moved that there was nothing organic doing the talking. Not that Vol'jin cared about any such things at this moment.

"What is he on about, Sylvanas? What _demands?!_ " He asked.

"Ever since Nathanos disappearance there's been these… messages."

" _From who?!_ " Vol'jin roared and his eyes widened maddeningly as Sylvanas pouted slightly with her lips, actually looking a little guilty. "And ye never thought ta tell us?! Tell _me?!_ "

"It's none of your business, mongrel!" She snapped back.

"None of my- well I'll be da judge o' dat from now on! What about da rest, Tunka?! Yer comrades, where they be, be they 'live?!" Vol'jin said insistently, approaching the troll's head with a last string of hope.

"He's gone, Vol'jin." Sylvanas said dismissively, "Give it up." But of course, he did not.

" _The living are being treated to the Lich King' hospitality... you'll do best to hurry, Vol'jin, son of Sen'jin. Where the cliffs of the unsullied meets the..._ "

Sylvanas ignored the ridiculous riddles coming from this lesser creature and with a sigh turned to gaze beyond the horizon of beaming gold with the setting of the sun.

It was a beauty she could appreciate still, but all too soon her keen eyes was urged towards a mysterious black spot to completely destroy this flawless spectacle. She tilted her head and gave the raven's leg that dangled on her chest a questioning look as it writhed and bent in agitation. She knew to take its warning seriously and a sense of dread crept on her as she looked up once more to realise that the black dot was only increasing in size. Suddenly, this barren place didn't feel so much of a endless no-man's land any more. It was a cage with nowhere to hide.

"Vol'jin!" She called to the troll who was still occupied making sense of their new guest. He quickly came to attention.

"Do you see that?" She said, pointing into the distance.

Vol'jin squinted his eyes for a moment and then returned an affirmative nod. "So much for a surprise visit." He said.

" _The master sees all. He'll come for you, he'll come for you!"_ The skull preached manically.

" _Enough!_ " Sylvanas snarled and with the snap of a finger the talkative head abruptly stopped its hollering. Pale eyes bulged out of their sockets like the protruding veins across its pale features, looking ready to burst. It practically oozed pain and fear at the brink of its final demise and Sylvanas was revelling in it. Her mad smile and wide-spread eyes was nothing but erratic and hungry.

"Sylvanas, we need ta move." Vol'jin said carefully, and she snapped her head in his direction with a snap.

" _No!_ " She gurgled "First we must deal with this one. They can't know we've been here."

"From da sound of it, dey already do." Vol'jin said, peering at her suspiciously. Sylvanas felt like hitting something. Hard. Until that something breaks.

"Don't act like you've been fooled by its clever tongue! You can smell a lie from miles away. It's nothing but a talking head trying to buy time for the cavalry!"

"I can smell a liar, and ye smell particularly foul. Yer hidin' something' and clearly Tunka ova here knows something 'bout dat. Don't think I'll let ya destroy da evidence!"

Sylvanas hesitated for a moment as Vol'jin bent down and picked up Tunka by the hair and made a crooked smile.

"You can't be serious."

"Keep it quiet for me, but if ye do anything else happens ta harm it…"

Their stare-off was soon interrupted by a muffled, beating sound from the skies.

"I'll keep it quiet, but from then on it's _your_ problem, we clear on that?!"

Sylvanas couldn't believe her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief.

"We move, Sylvanas." Vol'jin said urgently and started running.

Sylvanas retrieved her bow from her back and went after him, keeping a constant eye on their pursuer.

 _ **l~~~l**_


End file.
